SAND  AND 
CACTUS 


WOLCOTT-LE-  CLEAR  -BEARD 


Sand 

and 

Cactus 


Sand  and  Cactus 

By 

Wolcott  Le  Clear  Beard 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  $  J  $  ^99 

Copyright,  1899,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  DEV1NNE  PRESS. 


To 

My  Father  and  Mother 


ss 


M667757 


Contents 

PAGE 

Bisnaga's  Madeline          ......        5 

Specs       .          .                                         .                    .  43 

Rouge-et-Noir       .          .          .          .         .  •       .  -75 

Tizzard  Castle            .          .          .                    .          .  97 

The  Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist           .          .  .    139 

Liver's  Responsibility           .          .          .          .          .  161 

Station  347  +  57.6          .         .          .          .          .  .195 

The  Wind  Wraith 219 

The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan    .                    .          .  .265 

A  Brother  to  St.  James          .          .          .          ,          .  301 


BISNAGA'S  MADELINE 


BISNAGA'S   MADELINE 


IT  was  down  in  New  Mexico  that  I  first  made  her 
acquaintance,  where  we  were  building  the  big  res 
ervoir  at  Las  Conchas. 

Her  father,  Tim  Mullaney  by  name,  was  a  subcon 
tractor  who  had  about  thirty  stations— three  thousand 
feet— of  the  levee  to  put  up.  A  melancholy  kind  of 
Irishman  was  Tim,  industrious  and  well-meaning, 
but  the  thickest-headed  Celt  that  ever  crossed  the 
water. 

He  wouldn't  have  lasted  two  days  on  the  work,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  Nora,  his  wife,  who  was  as  quick 
to  see  as— well,  as  Tim  wasn't,  and  that's  really  say 
ing  a  good  deal. 

What  he  had  to  do  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world :  just  earthwork  with  a  little  third-class  ma 
sonry  here  and  there;  but  he  never  could  get  any 
thing  right,  somehow,  and  would  mix  up  the  simplest 
instructions  unless  his  wife  was  by  to  expound  them ; 
so  finally— I  was  the  engineer  in  charge  of  all  that 
part — I  would  ride  down  to  his  camp  and  explain 
what  I  wanted  directly  to  Nora,  who  would  superin- 

3 


Sand  and  Cactus 

tend  Tim,  and  so  things  got  on  very  nicely  after  a 
while,  though  they  were  generally  broke  $  but  that  was 
because  Tim  would  insist  on  running  the  treasury 
end  of  the  outfit.  I  had  thirteen  miles  of  work  to 
cover,  and  in  that  dusty,  desert  country,  with  the 
mercury  anywhere  between  a  hundred  and  four  and 
a  hundred  and  twenty  in  the  shade,  my  daily  ride  of 
twenty-six  miles  was  apt  to  be  a  bit  tedious  5  and  as 
Nora's  camp  was  always  the  neatest— a  great  thing  in 
that  land  of  flies— and  the  water  in  her  big  red  ollas 
much  cooler  and  more  refreshing  than  any  one  else's, 
I  got  into  the  habit,  finally,  of  making  my  visit  to 
this  camp  the  last  one  of  the  day,  and  stopping 
awhile  to  let  my  horse  rest,  as  I  chatted  with  Nora  and 
chaffed  Madeline.  Madeline  was  ten  years  old  and  a 
small  edition  of  her  mother,  so  her  worst  enemy  could 
hardly  say  her  beauty  amounted  to  a  fault,  but  a 
brighter  young  woman  would  be  very  hard  to  find. 
She  was  also  her  mother's  lieutenant,  and  an  able  one, 
too;  for  while  Nora  was  busy  about  the  camp,— and 
that,  of  course,  was  pretty  well  all  the  time,— Made 
line  would  patrol  the  work.  Then  if  anything  went 
wrong  there,  those  who  were  to  blame  would  hear 
from  it,  and  very  quickly. 

It  was  an  odd  little  figure  that  I  used  to  see  canter 
ing  toward  me  as  I  walked  my  horse  down  the  dusty 
length  of  the  half-finished  bank.  She  always  rode 
astride,  with  the  halter-shank  twisted  around  her 
pony's  jaw  in  lieu  of  a  bridle,  and  her  saddle  was  a 
square  of  canvas  cut  from  an  old  tent,  ornamented 
with  figures  drawn  on  it  in  ink,  in  imitation  of  those 

4 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 


the  Indians  paint  on  skins.  "She  tuk  all  the  ink 
there  was  in  the  commishary  for  thim  there  dicora- 
shuns,"  her  father  had  told  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
he  spoke  truly ;  but  as  no  one  in  that  camp  ever  wrote 
any  letters,  and  kept  their  one  account-book  in  pencil 
or  didn't  keep  it  at  all,  just  as  it  happened,  it  really 
didn't  matter.  The  pony  himself  was  a  curiosity  in 
his  way.  He  couldn't  have 'stood  much  over  eleven 
hands,  and  had  hair  like  a  goat's.  His  mane  was  as 
shaggy  as  a  Shetland's,  and  so  would  his  tail  have  been 
had  not  Madeline  cut  it  away  in  links,  so  that  it  looked 
rather  like  a  telescope. 

Then  he  seemed,  as  I  remember  him,  nearly  as  broad 
as  he  was  long.  This  was  also  owing  to  his  mistress, 
for  she,  being  exceedingly  fond  of  her  steed,  and  hav 
ing  original  ideas  about  horse-training,  persisted  in 
keeping  him  in  the  small  enclosure  of  the  corral, 
where  all  the  feed  was  stored,  in  order  that  he  might 
help  himself  to  what  he  most  fancied ;  a  method  which 
would  probably  have  killed  any  other  horse  in  the 
Territory.  She  had  not  gained  this  privilege  for  Bis- 
naga  (she  had  called  him  after  the  stumpy,  shaggy 
cactus  of  that  name,  which  he  much  resembled)  with 
out  a  struggle,  for  Lopes,  their  Mexican  corral  boss, 
finding  his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  much  out 
raged  by  this  proceeding,  took  it  upon  himself  to  con 
sign  Bisnaga  to  the  outer  darkness  of  the  main  corral. 
Twice  he  did  this,  and  attempted  it  a  third  time  j  but 
Madeline  was  present  on  this  occasion,  and  finding  her 
remonstrances  unheeded,  struck  him  across  the  face 
with  a  mule-whip.  He  then  came  toward  her,  prob- 

5 


Sand  and  Cactus 

ably  to  box  her  ears,  so  she  drew  a  pistol  and  cocked  it, 
and  he  went  away.  But  he  always  hated  her  after  that. 

To  return.  On  the  animal  thus  caparisoned  would 
sit  Madeline,  in  a  calico  frock,  very  clean,  a  pink  sun- 
bonnet,  scarlet  stockings,  a'nd  tattered,  dusty  shoes, 
almost  always  without  buttons,  and  held  on  her  feet 
by  a  pair  of  enormous  Mexican  spurs.  These  spurs 
were  half  the  pride  of  her  life.  The  other  half  was  a 
much-worn  red-silk  parasol,  proudly  held  aloft  when 
its  owner  rode  slowly,  but  when  at  a  more  rapid  gait 
was  furled  and  used  to  wallop  the  pony  with. 

She  wore  a  leather  belt  around  her  waist,  fastened 
with  a  latego  instead  of  a  buckle,  and  in  this  was 
stuck  the  pistol  which  completed  her  attire.  It  was 
only  a  target-pistol  about  eight  inches  long  j  a  single- 
barrelled  affair,  throwing  a  ball  "  about  the  size  of  a 
homoeopathic  pill,"  as  Mark  Twain  says ;  but,  such  as 
it  was,  Madeline  would  hold  it  very  straight  indeed. 

Thus  attired,  she  would  come  toward  me  at  a  lope, 
and,  making  a  sort  of  military  salute  with  her  parasol, 
would  venture  to  hope  that  "  everything  is  going  right 
the  day";  for  Madeline  was  not  without  a  touch, 
though  a  slight  one,  of  her  parents'  rich  brogue. 

Then  riding  gravely  along  by  my  side,  she  would 
answer  my  questions,  and  straighten  out  her  father's 
muddled  replies,  as  we  found  him,  swearing  at  his 
scraper-chasers  at  the  end  of  the  dump,  and  then 
would  scamper  back  to  the  camp  to  let  her  mother 
know  I  was  coming. 

I  took  a  fancy  to  her,  and  we  became  great  friends. 
At  first,  though,  all  the  friendship  was  on  my  side, 

6 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 


Madeline  disapproving  of  me  thoroughly,  and  on  many 
different  counts.  To  begin  with,  I  was  a  tenderfoot, 
as  shown  by  my  breeches,  boots,  and  straight  spurs, 
all  separate  grounds  of  offence  in  her  eyes.  Further 
more,  my  flat  saddle  was  a  trifling  affair,  not  at  all 
suited  to  the  serious  business  of  life.  She  thought 
no  one  who  used  such  a  thing  could  ride,  and  I 
couldn't  as  she  did.  Few  men  could.  Also,  it  had 
no  thongs  hanging  all  over  it  to  tie  things  on  by,  and 
no  horn  whereby  to  hold  a  lassoed  steer— about  all  a 
saddle  was  good  for,  anyway.  Then  my  guns  were 
Smith  &  Wesson's,  and  not  the  Colt's  to  which  she  was 
accustomed.  These  things  were  surely  enough  to  con 
demn  any  one,  but  I  was  guilty  of  far  more  serious 
offences.  I  made  fun  of  Bisnaga  and  of  her  affection 
for  him,  affecting  to  be  uncertain  as  to  which  owned 
the  other.  This  filled  her  small  soul  with  rage,  and 
for  a  while  Madeline  hated  me  fervently.  She  always 
spoke  respectfully  to  me,  for  if  she  had  not  her  mother 
would  have  ascertained  the  reason  why  by  a  method 
with  which  she  was  painfully  familiar;  but  when  I 
was  sitting  sometimes  in  the  thatched  eating-shack, 
she  would  get  behind  it  into  the  corral,  where,  as  she 
couldn't  see  me,  she  was  not  obliged  to  take  official 
notice  of  my  presence,  and  then  would  make  cutting 
remarks  in  technical  language  and  sarcastic  tone  con 
cerning  my  horse,  his  conformation  and  equipments, 
and  occasionally  about  myself. 

One  day,  however,  as  I  was  riding  slowly  down  the 
road  about  a  mile  from  Mullaney's  camp,  Madeline 
suddenly  went  by  me  like  a  flash.  I  had  not  heard 

7 


Sand  and  Cactus 

the  sound  of  Bisnaga's  little  bare  hoofs  on  the  soft 
sand,  and  neither  had  my  horse,  for  the  vision  of  a 
wildly  flourished  flame-colored  parasol  made  him  snort 
and  shy.  He  wasn't  used  to  being  passed,  however, 
so  in  three  jumps  was  hard  on  the  pony's  heels. 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder,  and  began  frantically 
to  work  her  passage— spurs,  parasol,  and  halter-shank 
all  going  like  mad,  leaning  well  forward  and  lifting 
her  horse,  jockey  fashion.  I  then  saw  that  Madeline 
was  racing  with  me,  and  really  I  never  thought  so 
small  a  pony  could  go  so  fast.  His  little  legs  looked 
like  a  mist  under  him.  Of  course  he  hadn't  much  of 
a  chance  with  my  long-legged  black,  so  I  pulled  a  bit, 
— gradually,  so  she  wouldn't  see  it,— letting  her  ride  in, 
a  winner  by  some  forty  yards.  The  look  of  triumph 
she  gave  me,  as  she  stopped  her  panting  horse  by  the 
corral  slip-rails,  I  wouldn't  have  missed  for  anything. 
This  was  repeated  for  the  next  week  or  so  at  frequent 
intervals,  being  evidently  intended  to  lower  my  opinion 
of  my  judgment  j  but  having  sufficiently  humiliated 
me,  Madeline  relented  visibly,  and  even  became  quite 
affable  at  times.  Then  she  saw  me  jump  my  horse 
over  an  arroyo,  though  I  didn't  know  it  until  three 
days  later,  when  she  took  an  opportunity  of  accom 
plishing  the  same  feat.  Then  I  learned,  on  inquiry, 
that  in  the  intervening  time  she  had  put  Bisnaga  over 
every  ditch  he  could  clear,  and  tumbled  him  into  those 
he  couldn't,  for  miles  around.  This,  with  the  fact  that 
I  once  killed  a  jack-rabbit  in  a  manner  which  met  her 
approval,  placed  me  well  in  her  esteem,  and  I  was 
correspondingly  elated. 

8 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

It  was  not  long  after  this  happy  event  that  I  met 
with  an  accident.  An  undermined  bank  gave  way, 
bringing  my  horse  and  me  down  with  it,  I  under 
neath,  and  the  horse  together  with  a  ton  or  so  of  sand 
on  top.  It  squeezed  me  somewhat,  enough  to  lay  me 
up  with  some  exceedingly  painful  injuries,  so  that  I 
could  do  nothing  but  lie  on  my  cot  in  the  shade  and 
watch  the  buzzards  as  they  lazily  wheeled  about  above 
me,  and  wishing  the  while  that  I  might  get  something 
besides  bacon  and  frijoles  to  eat,  and  some  one  to  talk 
to ;  for  every  one  was  far  too  busy  to  attend  to  me.  It 
was  the  third  day,  I  think,  when  I  saw  a  red  spot  far 
down  the  river  trail,  which,  as  it  slowly  approached, 
developed  into  Madeline's  parasol.  I  wondered  if  she 
was  coming  to  see  me,  for  it  wouldn't  strike  one  that 
visiting  the  sick  was  much  in  her  line ;  but  such  was 
her  intention,  for  Bisnaga's  head  was  turned  up  the 
path  leading  to  the  thatched  veranda  where  I  lay.  I 
saw  that  he  was  dressed  for  the  occasion,  wearing  a 
bridle  with  a  large  brass  army  bit,  and  several  feathers 
stuck  in  his  mane.  Madeline  stopped  him,  and  pulling 
the  reins  over  his  head  as  an  intimation  that  he  was 
to  stop  where  he  stood,  came  up  to  my  cot.  She  re 
plied  to  my  salutations  in  rather  an  absent  way,  and 
looked  at  me  sternly  for  some  time ;  but  after  a  while 
she  said,  "  Mother  thought  this  might  taste  good  after 
the  beans  and  hog-meat,"  putting  on  the  chair  by  my 
side  a  napkin-covered  parcel  as  she  spoke.  I  thanked 
her  as  well  as  her  mother  for  their  kindness,  but  if  she 
heard  me  she  made  no  sign,  so  there  was  a  pause  after 
I  had  finished,  until  she  asked,  "  How'd  it  come  to  be  ?  " 

9 


Sand  and  Cactus 

I  told  her,  and  she  considered  some  time,  and  then— 
"Bisnaga  wouldn't  do  no  such  fool  thing  as  that." 
Anxious  to  conciliate,  I  said  I  was  sure  of  it;  but 
Madeline  was  above  flattery,  and  only  observed :  "  If 
he  did  I'd  fair  frazzle  a  black-snake  out  on  'im."  This 
seemed  to  exhaust  the  subject,  so  I  said  no  more ;  but 
she  appeared  to  be  ill  at  ease  as  she  stood  there,  with 
one  arm  around  the  cottonwood  log  which  served  as 
a  pillar,  scratching  her  right  leg  with  her  left  spur. 
Finally,  nerving  herself  for  a  desperate  effort,  she 
straightened  up.  "  Mother  says  she's  sorry  you're 
hurted,  and  hopes  you'll  be  better  soon,"  said  she. 
Then,  scrambling  on  to  her  pony's  back,  she  turned 
him,  and  shouting  back,  "  And  so  do  I,"  threw  in  her 
spurs  and  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  I  laughed,  but 
I  understood  her.  Though  the  sentiment  recorded 
above  might  be  justified  by  an  extreme  case,  she 
couldn't  stop  to  listen  to  a  reply  in  a  like  vein.  That 
was  too  much.  Undoing  the  napkin,  I  found  a 
chicken,  beautifully  roasted, — one  of  Nora's  cherished 
stock,— and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  never  eaten 
anything  so  good  before. 

Every  day,  after  that,  Bisnaga  would  come  slowly  up 
the  path,  bearing  some  delicacy,  and  each  time  would 
disappear  at  his  top  speed  as  his  small  mistress  voiced 
her  wish  for  my  recovery.  I  wanted  to  make  some  ac 
knowledgment  to  the  child  for  all  this,  but  it  was  a  dif 
ficult  matter  to  accomplish ;  she  "  didn't  want  no  pay," 
she  said.  But  she  was  fond  of  personal  adornment  as 
any  other  young  savage,  and  through  this  my  oppor 
tunity  came.  She  was  wearing,  one  day,  by  way  of  a 

10 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

necklace,  two  nickel-plated  buckles  once  part  of  a  pair 
of  suspenders,  strung  on  a  buckskin  thong  instead  of 
a  ribbon.  A  pendant  would  add  finish  to  this  orna 
ment,  I  suggested,  and  ventured  to  offer  to  act  in  that 
capacity  a  little  gold  charm  I  had :  a  fish  of  Mexican 
workmanship,  jointed  in  many  places,  so  that  it  would 
wriggle  when  touched.  She  demurred  stoutly  at  first, 
but  the  bewitching  sqnirm  of  which  the  thing  was 
capable,  together  with  my  arguments,  finally  prevailed, 
and  I  fastened  it  between  the  two  buckles  with  a 
bit  of  string,  so  that  it  hung,  flopping  as  she  moved 
in  a  most  realistic  manner.  She  really  thought  a 
great  deal  of  that  fish.  Above  her  parasol,  rather,  I 
think  it  ranked,  though  somewhat  beneath  her  spurs. 
Then  she  began  bringing  me  bits  of  information— 
and  very  useful  ones  sometimes— that  she  gathered, 
in  her  journeys  back  and  forth,  concerning  the  work, 
until  at  length  I  was  able  to  go  my  rounds  once 
more. 

The  long,  hot  summer  had  fairly  burnt  itself  out; 
the  days  were  not  quite  so  torrid,  and  the  nights  a 
great  deal  cooler,  when,  returning  one  morning  after 
a  week's  absence  on  some  temporary  duty,  I  found 
something  out  of  the  common  going  on  in  the  work. 
The  first  camp  I  came  to,  Brainard's,  was  deserted,  but 
the  next  few  were  showing  a  most  unaccustomed  activ 
ity.  They  were  working  faster,  and  the  bosses  were 
shorter-tempered  than  was  usual.  It  was  the  doing 
of  Schultze,  the  chief  contractor,  they  told  me.  It 
seems  that  he  had  been  much  taken  with  an  earth- 
moving  machine  he  had  seen  somewhere,— a  sort  of 

I  I 


Sand  and  Cactus 

overgrown  scraper  pulled  by  cables,— and  was  desir 
ous  of  resuming  such  subcontracted  sections  as  suited 
his  purpose  in  order  to  work  them  with  this  arrange 
ment;  therefore  they,  the  subs,  were  trying  to  get 
what  they  could  out  of  it  before  the  first  of  the  month, 
when  they  might  be  thrown  out.  It  was  Mullaney's 
part,  they  said,  that  Schultze  was  most  anxious  to  re 
gain,  but  Tim  had  some  clause  in  his  agreement  which 
made  it  harder  to  oust  him  than  the  rest,  so  he  had 
hired  Brainard's  outfit  and  was  working  night  and  day 
to  hold  his  contract.  I  was  sorry  for  all  this,  Tim  be 
ing  rather  a  favorite  of  mine  in  spite  of  his  stupidity ; 
for,  in  his  way,  he  would  try  to  stick  to  the  specifica 
tions  and  do  what  he  was  told,  while  most  of  the  rest 
used  what  brains  they  had  in  devising  methods  by 
which  they  could  avoid  doing  so. 

Hurrying  through  with  the  work  of  the  other  sec 
tions,  I  galloped  on  to  Tim's. 

Here  was  a  change  indeed.  He  had  trebled  his 
force,  and  the  bank  was  alive  with  horses  and  men. 
Everything  was  pressed  into  the  service.  Carts  and 
wheelbarrows  eked  out  the  scanty  supply  of  scrapers, 
and  even  four-  and  six-horse  wagons  went  groaning 
down  the  levee,  loaded  with  the  sandy  clay.  One  team 
was  composed  of  a  big  gray  Percheron  horse,  a  black 
mule  hardly  smaller,  and  two  tiny  pintos,  attached  to 
a  Fresno  scraper,  and  driven  by  a  tall  Apache,  who 
stalked  gravely  behind,  probably  tempted  by  the  high 
pay  to  work  long  enough  to  enable  him  to  purchase 
American  sardines,  rifle-cartridges,  canned  string- 
beans,  and  other  things  dear  to  the  aboriginal  heart. 

12 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

There  were  three  or  four  Indians  and  a  few  white 
men  there,  but,  as  is  always  the  case  in  that  country, 
the  great  bulk  were  Mexicans  of  mongrel  race— 
"  greasers." 

All  were  working  feverishly  under  the  profane 
oratory  of  the  foremen,  and  working  all  wrong,  too ; 
for  Tim,  having  had  a  whole  week  in  which  to  make 
mistakes,  had  embraced  the  opportunity;  but  I 
straightened  him  out  after  a  while,  and  rode  over  to 
Nora's  domain,  the  camp.  The  change  here  was  as 
noticeable  as  on  the  dump.  The  corrals  were  crowded 
with  tired  horses  from  the  night-shift,  and  the  sur 
rounding  chaparral  was  dotted  with  the  sleeping 
forms  of  their  Mexican  drivers.  The  little  blacksmith 
shop  had  acquired  a  new  forge,  and  both  were  blazing 
merrily.  The  eating-shack  was  being  enlarged,  for 
the  pole  framework  of  the  extension  was  in  place,  and 
a  huge  pile  of  green  arrow-weed  was  being  laid  on  as 
thatch  by  two  Indians,  as  it  was  handed  up  to  them  by 
a  third,  while  close  by  stood  Nora,  vociferously  super 
intending.  The  cottonwood-shaded  plaza  formed  by 
the  camp  buildings  and  tents  was  filled  with  Mexicans, 
chattering,  and  smoking  their  crooked  brown-paper 
cigarettes  as  they  considered  whether  or  not  they 
should  go  to  work  or  rest,  after  having  pretended  to 
labor  for  half  a  day  or  so. 

Nora  saw  me  coming,  and  walked  toward  me,  wiping 
her  face,  heated  by  her  eloquence,  as  she  came.  She 
fairly  beamed  with  pleasure,  and  the  invitation  to  dis 
mount  and  rest  was  even  more  cordial  than  usual. 

"  Yes,  sorr,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  my  comments  on 

'3 


Sand  and  Cactus 

the  turn  affairs  had  taken;  " things  do  be  booming 
now  for  sure.  They  have  to  be.  You  see,  sorr,  that 
we  have  an  oiron  conthract  with  that  little  Dutch 
blaggard,  an7  it  ses  we  must  put  up  twenty-foive 
hoondther  thousand  yards  of  dirt  befoor  the  furst  of 
Novimber.  l  But/  ses  he, '  that's  naught  but  a  formality/ 
ses  he/  an'  if  yez  goes  ahead  in  a  modherate  way,  sure 
'twill  be  all  right ' ;  but  four  days  gone  by,  who  should 
roide  down  the  bank  but  that  sem  man,  an'  gev  a 
warnin'  to  Tim  that  he  should  requoire  the  turrms  of 
the  conthrac'  carried  out  as  he  said.  He  only  wants 
to  get  that  big  slusher  in  here,  what's  pulled  by  a 
shtring,  an'  pulls  down  more  durt  than  it  can  put  up. 
Tim  was  going  to  throw  everything  up,  but  I  w'u'dn't 
let  him,  so  I  med  him  borra  money  on  our  stock  an' 
buy  more,  an'  hoire  more  yet,  an'  greasers  an'  every 
thing.  We'll  call  the  little  divil's  bluff  yet.  We're 
hard  put  to  it  for  foremen,  though.  Sure  we  had  to 
put  the  store  boss  on  the  dump,  an'  so  Maddy's  run 
ning  the  commishary.'7 

She  paused  to  take  breath,  well  pleased,  evidently, 
at  the  way  things  were  going.  There  was  excitement 
in  this,  and  contention,  so  Nora  was  in  her  element. 
They  deserved  to  win,  and  I  hoped  they  would,  but 
doubted  it,  for  I  knew  chief  contractors  are  deep  and 
full  of  guile.  I  looked  in  at  the  door  of  the  little 
commissary  store,  though,  as  I  rode  back,  and  saw 
Madeline,  delighted  with  her  new  sphere  of  action,  try 
ing  in  voluble  greaser-Spanish  to  overcharge  a  Mex 
ican  teamster  for  a  pair  of  brogans  which  didn't  fit 
him,  and  then  set  out  for  the  home  camp. 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

There  didn't  seem  to  be  much  in  my  mental  prophecy 
of  evil  at  first.  The  force  was  increased  day  by  day,  and 
the  long  bank  grew  in  a  manner  wondrous  to  behold. 
Tim  exhausted  his  magnificent  vocabulary  in  en 
deavoring  to  do  justice  to  the  shortcomings  of  the 
new  foremen,  and  made  more  blunders  himself  than 
any  of  them,  or,  for  that  matter,  than  all  of  them  ;  for 
Nora  was  much  too  busy  to  take  charge  of  her  hus 
band  and  the  camp  both,  as  she  had  formerly  done ; 
so  I  had  to  make  two  visits  now,  one  in  the  morning 
to  look  over  what  the  night-shift  had  accomplished, 
and  another  in  the  evening  to  see  if  anything  had 
been  done  properly  during  the  day;  for  Tim  took 
personal  charge  then. 

For  some  days  after  this  Nora's  smile  grew  broader 
and  more  comprehensive,  for  Schultze  made  no  at 
tempt  to  play  his  hand— no  open  attempt,  that  is ;  but, 
somewhat  versed  in  the  ways  of  his  kind,  I  began  to 
see  in  him  the  instigator  of  the  petty  annoyances  that 
now  made  themselves  felt.  Tools  were  requisitioned 
on  other  service ;  foremen  enticed  away  or  made  too 
drunk  to  go  on  duty;  commissary  and  cook-house 
supplies  came  irregularly ;  Tim's  time-checks  became 
hard  to  cash ;  and  a  thousand  and  one  other  things  of 
the  same  kind,  all  trivial  enough  in  themselves,  met 
with  good  nature  and  overcome  in  triumph,  until  at 
last  the  supply  question  began  to  be  serious. 

Neither  men  nor  horses  can  work  without  food,  and 
they  had  come  to  rather  short  commons  for  both,  once 
or  twice,  so  the  laborers  began  to  growl  and  leave. 

Day  by  day  this  became  worse,  and  Nora's  face  grew 

15 


Sand  and  Cactus 

longer,  until  in  a  week  the  crisis  came.  I  had  paid  my 
morning  visit,  when  things  were  much  as  usual,  though 
I  noticed,  as  I  passed,  that  Madeline  was  no  longer 
in  the  store,— there  was  nothing  left  to  sell,— and  that 
the  feed-pen  inside  the  big  corral  was  almost  empty. 
Nora  said,  however,  with  all  her  old  manner  returned, 
that  though  they  were  down  pretty  well  to  their  last, 
it  would  be  all  right,  for  a  big  order  of  goods  had 
come  in  that  morning  from  Albuquerque,  and  three 
six-horse  teams  had  gone  over  to  fetch  them.  Schultze 
had  been  there,  and  had  offered  them  terms  for  their 
contract  which  had  been  refused,  I  gathered,  with  con 
siderable  shortness.  He  had  just  gone  on  down  the 
line,  so  I  would  probably  meet  him.  I  did  not,  how 
ever,  and  it  would  have  done  no  good  if  I  had,  for  as 
the  engineers  recognized  officially  only  the  principal 
contractor,  the  disposition  said  contractor  made  of 
the  subs  under  him  lay  entirely  outside  our  province. 
His  presence  was  shown  by  several  idle  sections  down 
below,  and  this  shortened  my  work,  so  that  my  second 
visit  to  Tim's  was  made  much  earlier  than  was  com 
mon.  As  I  approached  I  saw  that  the  overhanging 
cloud  of  dust  was  missing,  and  no  shouting  of  foremen 
or  teamsters  could  I  hear,  so  I  knew  the  smash  must 
have  come,  and  without  stopping  at  the  levee  I  rode 
into  the  camp.  Here  it  was  lively  enough,  for  the 
little  plaza  was  covered  with  bunches  of  excited  Mexi 
cans,  all  jabbering  at  once  in  some  groups,  in  others 
listening  to  the  frenzied  oratory  of  some  self-appointed 
leaders  as  they  recapitulated  their  grievances  against 
the  mayordomo  (Tim),  and  counselled  instant  ven- 

16 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

geance  against  him  and  all  gringos.  Their  looks 
promised  evil  to  all— so  much  so  that  the  knowledge 
that  the  horse  I  rode  was  able  and  willing  to  outrun 
anything  in  the  county  afforded  me  considerable 
satisfaction  at  the  time. 

The  three  saloon-tents  outside  the  camp  limits  had 
attracted  crowds  which  reminded  one  of  the  flies  gath 
ered  around  the  unwashed  tin  plates  which  still  stood, 
from  the  men's  dinner,  on  the  long  tables  in  the  newly 
enlarged  shack,  in  front  of  which  a  small  knot  of 
Mexicans,  with  malignant  faces  and  important  manner, 
stood  listening  to  Nora's  broken  Spanish,  as  she  tried 
to  explain  the  situation  to  them,  as  the  representatives 
of  the  rest,  though  without  much  success,  apparently ; 
for  from  time  to  time  they  would  interrupt  her  fiercely 
with  questions  and  rattling  oaths,  when  her  right  hand 
would  twitch  nervously  toward  a  bulge  in  the  body  of 
her  gown  which  I  had  never  noticed  before.  They 
were  too  much  occupied  to  notice  me  until  I  spoke ; 
then  the  Mexicans  departed  to  expound,  with  gestures 
and  blasphemy,  the  information  they  had  gathered, 
and  which  their  attendant  brethren  eagerly  awaited 
on  the  plaza. 

Poor  Nora!  Her  nerve  was  gone  now,  and  she 
almost  broke  down  as  she  told  me,  her  brogue  richer 
than  ever  in  her  excitement,  how  the  men  had  just 
finished  eating  when  the  great  wagons  came  rattling 
back  from  the  little  railway-station,  fifteen  miles  away, 
laden  only  with  a  curt  note  from  the  supply-dealer  to 
the  effect  that  the  goods  ordered  had  been  forwarded, 
and  awaited  them  on  cash  payment;  but  owing  to 

17 


Sand  and  Cactus 

unfavorable  reports  from  Mr.  Schultze  as  to  their 
solvency,  no  credit— not  even  the  usual  thirty  days— 
would  be  given.  This  settled  matters,  for  Tim  could 
as  easily  pay  the  national  debt  as  to  raise  the  ready 
money  for  that  grocery  bill;  so  there  was  nothing 
left  to  do  but  to  announce  the  fact  to  the  assembled 
men,  and  abide  by  the  consequences.  The  white  men 
—foremen  and  mechanics— had  grumbled  a  little  at 
the  delay ;  but  as  all  knew  the  pay  would  come,  and 
as  work  was  plenty  on  the  other  contracts,  they 
packed  their  blankets  and  departed.  But  with  the 
greasers  it  was  different.  They  couldn't  or  wouldn't 
•  understand  anything ;  they  wanted  payment  at  once, 
and  threatened  all  sorts  of  things  in  case  of  its  not 
being  immediately  forthcoming.  Nora  stopped  long 
enough  to  give  me  a  note,  which  she  had  nearly  for 
gotten,  she  said,  though  it  was  to  have  been  handed  me 
directly  I  came ;  then  she  took  up  her  story  again,  only 
too  glad  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to.  I  read  the  note ; 
it  was  an  order  from  headquarters  to  return  at  once, 
"as  fast  as  your  horse  will  carry  you ;  stop  for  nothing." 
There  was  no  trifling  with  this,  so  I  started  on  a 
gallop  for  home.  I  was  not  used  to  such  orders, 
even  from  our  imperious  old  chief,  and  they  troubled 
me ;  so  I  pushed  on  still  faster,  as  I  wondered  what 
their  cause  could  be.  Specks  in  the  road  quickly  be 
came  men  with  blanket-rolls  over  their  shoulders, 
plodding  along  in  the  same  direction,  who  hailed  me, 
as  I  passed,  with  questions  I  could  not  stop  to  answer. 
Then  wagons ;  and  as  I  flashed  by  I  could  see  that 
they  were  loaded  with  tents,  faro  and  craps  lay-outs, 

18 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 


and  barrels  of  whiskey,  all  going  to  the  broken  camp 
as  buzzards  gather  round  a  newly  dead  horse ;  for  idle 
men  would  be  but  too  ready  to  pledge  their  pay  at  an 
enormous  discount  for  "  artificial"  whiskey,  or  to  lose 
it  at  faro  or  the  seductive  monte. 

Two  of  these  trains  in  one  mile,  five  in  the  next,  and 
I  pulled  up  my  winded  horse  at  the  office  door,  and 
ran  into  the  chiefs  sanctum.  He  was  sitting  there 
with  his  chair  tilted  back,  softly  whistling  a  tune  as  he 
gazed  placidly  into  space.  I  had  reported  as  ordered,  I 
told  him.  He  finished  the  air  he  was  executing,  and 
observing,  "  I  know  it,"  commenced  a  new  one.  "  What 
was  wanted  ? "  I  asked.  He  interrupted  his  musical  per 
formance  this  time  long  enough  to  say,  "  Nothing n  j 
then  took  it  up  again  exactly  where  he  had  left  off. 

Our  superior  was  apt  to  be  exasperating  at  times, 
and  this  was  one  of  them.  My  patience  was  rapidly 
vanishing,  when  he  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  say 
that  if  I  had  stayed  in  Mullaney's  camp  I  would 
probably  have  got  hurt,  for  they  were  safe,  men  said, 
to  have  a  row  down  there  before  long ;  and  though  he 
didn't  care  much  individually,  my  father  was  a  friend 
of  his,  so  he  would  prefer  returning  me  alive  if  con 
venient.  Tim's  estimate  had  been  taken,  and  the  sher 
iff  had  been  sent  for,  so  there  was  nothing  for  us  to  do 
but  to  keep  still  and  endeavor,  in  our  poor  way,  not  to 
make  fools  of  ourselves.  He  had  talked  with  Schultze, 
he  added  with  a  chuckle,  and  the  small  Teuton  had  de 
parted  in  some  haste  for  the  railway-station,  intending 
to  return  the  day  after  the  next  with  the  money. 

In  the  outer  room,  where  we  lesser  fry  were  wont  to 

'9 


Sand  and  Cactus 

congregate,  I  learned  fuller  particulars.  The  chief,  it 
seems,  had  sent  for  Schultze  and  remonstrated  mildly. 
But  Schultze  was  obdurate.  Mullaney  must  wait  until 
the  1st  of  the  month,  like  the  rest.  Then  waxed  our 
chief  wroth,  speaking  in  a  manner  unwelcome  to  con 
tractors  when  coming  from  chief  engineers,  and  the 
end  of  the  interview  was  as  has  been  told.  After  the 
hastily  taken  estimate  had  been  worked  out,  our  Ger 
man  friend  had  left  with  barely  time  to  catch  his  train. 
"  And  I'll  lay  odds,"  finished  Bailey,  my  informant,  a 
fellow-assistant  and  an  Englishman,  "that  the  little 
beggar  rode  three  stone  lighter  when  the  chief  had 
done  with  him.  My  word,  though  !  I  wouldn't  have 
taken  that  wigging  for  six  months'  pay.77  The  mes 
senger  sent  for  the  sheriff  rode  up  with  the  news  that 
this  official  was  absent,  but  would  return  that  after 
noon  or  evening. 

We  had  left  the  little  office  building  of  gray  adobe 
as  we  talked,  and  were  now  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  of  black  basalt  overlooking  the  upper  work,— we 
three  assistant  engineers  and  the  "boys,"  as  the  sub 
ordinates  of  an  engineer  corps,  irrespective  of  age, 
are  called,— watching  the  scene  below. 

It  would  seem  much  as  usual  to  an  unaccustomed  eye, 
but  we  could  see  differences.  The  big  cable-way  was 
still  swinging  great  masses  of  rock  into  foundations 
of  the  dam,  accompanied  by  the  flicker  of  red  signal- 
flags  and  the  shouts  of  the  masons  working  there. 
The  pile-drivers  thumped  as  usual  at  the  ends  of  the 
long  rows  of  piling  which  stretched  across  the  flat 
bottom  of  the  canon,  in  the  middle  of  which  the  river, 

20 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

a  mere  thread  at  this  season,  wound  sluggishly  along, 
its  channel  twisted  and  doubled  by  infinitesimal  rises 
and  hollows  in  the  hot  white  gravel  through  which  it 
ran.  Over  against  the  bottom  of  the  cliff,  facing  the 
one  on  which  we  sat  and  forming  the  other  side  of  the 
mesa,  or  table-land,  which  the  canon  of  the  river  cut 
in  halves,  we  were  excavating  for  foundations,  and  all 
day  long  the  scrapers  toiled  in  endless  procession  down 
into  the  big  pit,  filling  with  the  powdery  sand,  then 
straining  up  the  side  of  the  hill  they  had  made,  around 
its  back,  and  down  into  the  hole  again.  This  proces 
sion  was  still  there,  but  its  order  was  very  open  now, 
and  the  horses  standing  in  the  corrals  showed  how 
many  of  their  drivers  were  dotting  the  dusty  trail 
which  led  to  the  lower  camps.  There  was  idleness 
there  and  bad  feeling,  so  there  would  surely  be  much 
drink,  and  possibly  a  fight  as  well— a  fight  with  all  the 
odds  on  their  side ;  and  what  Sonora  greaser  could  re 
sist  such  a  prospect  ?  Not  these,  at  all  events ;  and  so 
they  had  gone,  all  but  a  few  who  were  volunteering 
their  help  in  loading  a  saloon  outfit  on  a  big  freight- 
wagon. 

The  kegs  of  bad  whiskey  and  stone  jugs  of  mescal 
were  already  in ;  the  canvas  followed  ;  a  few  swarthy 
women  of  their  own  race,  their  gaudy  wrappers  mak 
ing  bright  spots  on  the  sandy  stretch,  were  piled  on 
top;  and  the  whole  finally  creaked  away  down  the 
cactus-outlined  road,  the  attendant  crowd  laughing 
and  singing  as  they  went.  Then  the  sheriff  came  by 
in  a  swinging  gallop,  with  four  deputies  at  his  heels,  all 
following  the  same  path.  The  sun  was  going  down 

21 


Sand  and  Cactus 

now,  and  the  whistle  of  the  cable-way  engine  gave 
the  signal  for  the  end  of  the  day's  work.  The  men 
began  trooping  from  their  pumps  and  pile-drivers  to 
ward  the  cook-house. 

We  had  just  risen  to  go  to  our  own  dining-room, 
when  a  sound  of  something  scrambling  up  the  face 
of  the  mesa  made  us  pause  for  a  moment  and  then 
run  round  the  point  of  rock  which  hid  its  cause. 
It  was  Madeline  on  Bisnaga,  and  both  of  them  nearly 
at  the  top  of  that  almost  perpendicular  cliff,  where 
it  would  seem  that  nothing  but  a  goat  could  go. 
As  we  saw  them,  the  little  pony  attempted  to  jump 
up  on  a  ledge  of  rock  from  the  slope  where  he  was 
standing.  He  failed  to  make  it,  and  slid  half-way 
down  the  rolling  stones  on  his  haunches ;  but  recover 
ing  himself  quickly  under  the  influence  of  the  big 
spurs,  he  scrambled  up  once  more,  and  was  gathering 
for  another  spring  when  one  of  the  boys,  dropping 
over  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  caught  the  young  woman 
bodily  off  her  charger,  handing  her  up  to  us  like  a 
small  bale  of  goods ;  while  another,  taking  the  pony's 
head,  led  him  by  an  easier  path  to  the  top.  As  we  set 
her  on  her  feet,  we  noticed  that  there  was  portent  in 
her  attire.  She  was  stripped  for  action,  so  to  speak, 
for  she  had  left  off  both  sunbonnet  and  parasol,  while 
in  her  belt,  balancing  her  pistol  on  the  other  side,  hung, 
in  a  cowhide  sheath  of  her  own  manufacture,  a  good- 
sized  butcher-knife.  She  had  come,  she  said,  with  a 
note  to  the  chief.  The  greasers  were  getting  ugly 
now.  Lopes,  their  ex-corral  boss,  was  leading  them, 
and  had  tried  to  stop  her  as  she  left  the  camp  j  but 

22 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

she  had  ridden  hard  for  the  ford  leading  to  Agua 
Caliente  and  the  down-river  settlements,  and  hid  her 
self  and  the  pony  in  the  dense  growth  of  arrow- weed 
on  the  river's  edge  until  they  had  passed,  and  then  cut 
across  country  for  our  camp.  "  I  didn't  dare  try  the 
trail  up  the  mesa,"  she  finished ;  "  I  could  too  easy  be 
stopped  there ;  so  I  had  to  come  this  way."  She  looked 
down  with  some  complacency,  as  well  she  might,  at  the 
path  she  had  attempted,  and  so  nearly  succeeded  in 
scaling.  il  Here's  the  note,  anyhow.  I  rode  awful  hard, 
and  Pm  afraid  Bisnaga's  all  killed  up."  He  certainly 
was  "  all  killed  up,"  for  as  he  stood  there  with  hanging 
head  and  his  poor  little  flanks  heaving  hard,  white  with 
sweat,  tinged  red  here  and  there  where  cactus  thorns 
or  spurs  had  penetrated,  one  couldn't  ask  for  a  better 
miniature  of  a  thoroughly  played-out  horse. 

The  chief  strolled  up  to  the  group,  and  the  note  was 
put  into  his  hands.  There  were  only  a  few  words 
scrawled  in  pencil  on  wrapping-paper,  ill  spelled  and 
ungrammatical,  but  very  earnest,  asking  that  help 
might  be  sent.  A  few  would  answer,  but  with  only 
one  white  man  in  the  camp  "  the  greasers  will  surely 
do  us  up,"  adding  that  he  was  very  respectfully  the 
chief's  T.  Mullaney.  The  sheriff  had  already  gone, 
we  told  Madeline,— she  would  have  met  him  had  she 
come  the  regular  way,— and  he  could  easily  hold  the 
Mexicans  down,  as  the  speed  and  accuracy  with  which 
he  handled  that  exponent  of  frontier  law— Colt's 
single-action,  caliber  .45— was  well  and  unfavorably 
known  to  them  all. 

Words  to  this  effect  cheered  her  somewhat,  but  she 

23 


Sand  and  Cactus 

couldn't  stay,  she  said;  the  "childher"  would  need 
her.  She  must  get  back— now ;  she  didn't  want  any 
supper.  Bisnaga  couldn't  do  it  again,  we  urged,  but 
if  she  would  come  in  and  have  supper  with  us,  she 
should  see  that  he  was  fed  to  her  liking  and  afterward 
could  have  the  bay  mare  to  ride,  and  some  of  us  would 
go  with  her.  The  pony  was  clearly  too  much  done  up 
to  be  of  any  use,  and  she  hesitated,  but  made  no  direct 
reply.  "  I'll  put  Bisnaga  into  the  corral  myself,"  she 
said,  and,  catching  his  halter,  led  him  off.  When,  five 
minutes  later,  we  went  to  fetch  her,  we  found  the  pony 
placidly  enjoying  his  customary  surfeit  in  our  feed- 
pen,  and  the  bay  mare  the  nucleus  of  a  dusty  comet, 
rapidly  growing  less,  far  down  the  river  road.  A  person 
fond  of  her  own  way  was  Madeline,  and  this  was  char 
acteristic  ;  but  she  could  hardly  take  much  harm  with 
the  sheriff  and  his  men  hard  by,  so  we  went  in  to  supper. 
The  cMle-con-carne  and  the  situation  of  affairs  had 
been  duly  discussed,  when  suddenly  in  the  doorway 
stood  the  sheriff,  his  men  behind  him,  eying  our  table 
wistfully.  "  Evenin',"  he  remarked  in  his  soft  Texas 
dialect,  which  always  reminded  me  of  Bret  Harte's 
stories.  "  Come  down  to  see  if  I  couldn't  get  youah 
men  to  give  us  a  bite  of  grub.  Been  chasin'  greasah 
cattle-thieves  all  the  mawnin'.  Just  got  back,  an'  had 
to  come  down  heah.  Ain't  eat  any  since  six  o'clock. 
How's  Mullaney's  camp?  Oh,  all  right  for  now. 
Greasahs  wah  cookin'  theah  suppuhs.  They'll  be  quiet 
enough  till  they  get  done  eatin'  and  gathah  moah  of  a 
jag.  I'm  goin'  back  when  I  can  get  some  moah  men. 
Need  'em  befoah  mawnin',  I  reckon." 

24 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 


We  made  room  for  them  at  the  table,  which  most  of 
us  were  ready  to  leave  anyway,  and  gave  orders  to  Joe, 
our  Chinese  cook,  and  Sing,  his  mate,  to  get  ready  what 
ever  could  be  quickly  prepared.  It  was  extra  work  for 
the  Celestials,  and  they  didn't  like  it.  It  broke  their 
routine.  But  they  knew  what  happened  to  Chinamen 
who  trifled  with  the  sheriff,  and  so  soon  had  food  on 
the  table,  which  seemed  very  welcome  to  the  half- 
f  amished  men  who  sat  down  to  it. 

We  talked  it  over,  a  few  of  us,  outside,  in  consequence 
of  which,  seeing  that  the  sheriff  was  making  a  most 
excellent  meal,  and  was  presumably  therefore  in  a 
good  humor,  I  went  in  and  spoke  to  him.  A  few  of 
us  wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on  below,  I  told  him, 
but  we  wanted  it  kept  quiet— the  chief  might  not  like 
it ;  and  for  that  reason  he  must  promise  not  to  let  us 
in  for  any  trial  or  coroner's  jury  as  witnesses.  He 
was  rather  a  friend  of  mine,  and  consented  readily 
enough.  Said  he :  "I  won't  call  on  you,  but  you'll 
get  youah  fool  hides  shot  full  of  holes,  like  as  not." 
I  turned  to  leave,  but  he  called  me  back.  "  If  you  do 
have  to  pull  youah  guns,  don't  try  to  club  no  one  with 
the  barrels.  Use  'em  the  way  God  meant  'em  to  be 
used.  About  belt  high.  I'll  be  theah  soon.'7 

The  point  was  gained,  and  communicating  the  joy 
ful  news  to  the  rest,  we  set  out,  on  foot  j  for  not  only 
would  the  whole  camp  know  if  we  tried  to  saddle 
horses,  but,  though  it  was  six  miles  by  road,  the  dis 
tance  was  reduced  to  less  than  half  if  one  walked 
across  the  mesa,  where  no  horse  could  well  go,  for 
the  table-land  jutted  out  into  the  river-flat  in  the 

25 


Sand  and  Cactus 

shape  of  a  peninsula,  and  the  trail  had  to  double  it. 
It  was  very  dark  at  first,  but  after  a  while  the  moon 
came  up,  lighting  a  little  the  narrow  path  over  the 
bowlder-strewn  plain. 

We  went  in  single  file,  Barton,  my  rodman,  who 
knew  the  country  like  an  Indian,  at  the  head  as  guide, 
then  my  instrument-man.  I  came  next,  followed  by 
Bailey,  who,  like  most  Englishmen,  being  unable  to 
hit  anything  with  a  pistol,  had  armed  himself  with 
one  of  his  many  shotguns— an  eight-bore  ducking 
affair,  with  twenty  buck-shot  in  each  barrel.  After 
him  Brown,  his  rodman,  the  rear  being  brought  up 
by  the  long,  shambling  form  of  Smiley,  a  masonry 
inspector.  He  was  from  Alabama,  and  also  eschewed 
the  prevalent  Colt,  preferring  a  pair  of  double-bar 
relled  derringers,  one  of  which  he  carried  in  each 
side-pocket  of  his  trousers,  in  order,  as  he  said,  that 
he  might,  if  occasion  required,  "  nail  a  man  through 
his  pants  "  without  wasting  time  in  drawing,  such  be 
ing  the  pleasing  custom  of  the  country  whence  he 
came.  We  slowly  made  our  way  across  the  neck  of 
the  peninsula,  down  the  steep  pass  on  its  farther  side, 
and  out  on  the  flat. 

In  front  of  us  the  levee  showed  faintly  gray  against 
the  deep  black  of  the  opposite  cliff,  and  turning  sharply 
to  the  left,  we  skirted  its  base,  silently,  for  our  foot 
steps  in  the  yielding  sand  gave  no  sound. 

As  we  went  the  outline  of  the  bank  grew  more  dis 
tinct,  and  finally  stood  in  bold  relief  against  the  ruddy 
glare  of  a  large  brush  fire,  which  we  could  hear  crac 
kling  fiercely  on  its  other  side.  Shrill  voices  floated 

26 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

over  to  us,  speaking  in  Spanish,  angrily.  Then  came 
a  sound  from  the  camp  hard  by,  followed  by  a  dead 
silence  ;  every  voice  hushed.  We  listened,  and  it  came 
again— Tim's  brogue,  unmistakable  even  in  its  ago 
nized  tones. 

" Hands  up!"  he  cried.  "Hands  up  or  I'll— ah— 
would  ye?  Drop  that  rifle!  Quick— there,  stand 
back ! "" 

We  broke  into  a  run  over  the  bank,  past  the  fire,— 
deserted  now,— around  the  road  into  the  camp.  The 
little  plaza  was  dark.  Even  the  saloons  outside  had 
put  out  their  lights,  and  Nora's  tent  alone  shone  like 
pearl,  as  tents  do  when  there  is  a  light  inside  them. 
The  moon  was  still  low  upon  the  mesa,  outlining  in 
black  the  sujuarro  cacti,  that  stood  like  giant  cande 
labra  along  its  edge,  and  throwing  the  shadow  of  the 
cliif  far  out  on  the  plain  below.  The  tent  had  the 
river  at  its  back.  The  flaps  were  down,  and  before 
them  stood  Tim,  his  face  white  and  set,  with  a  Win 
chester  cocked  and  held  at  " ready"  on  his  hip. 

A  space  of  forty  feet  or  so,  and  Lopes  stood,  while 
behind  him,  on  the  edge  of  the  shadow,  were  twenty 
or  more  of  his  comrades,  all  motionless  as  statues. 

As  we  came  we  saw  that  the  ex-corral  boss's  hands 
were  held  high  above  his  head.  Taking  advantage 
of  the  diversion  caused  by  our  advent,  he  dropped  them 
to  his  sides ;  but  he  made  no  move  to  touch  the  rifle, 
lying  black  against  the  white  sand  at  his  feet,  for  that 
would  have  been  death. 

The  situation  explained  itself :  there  was  nothing  to 
say,  so  we  all  lined  up,  with  Tim  in  the  middle,  and 

27 


Sand  and  Cactus 

stood  by.  A  little  stir  among  the  forms,  dimly  seen 
in  the  black  shade,  then  all  was  still— deathly  stillness, 
broken  only  by  the  hooting  of  an  owl  in  the  brush  that 
lined  the  river-banks.  The  minutes  slowly  passed. 
Then  a  spark  winked  like  a  firefly  half-way  up  the 
mesa  j  a  bullet  sung  far  over  our  heads.  The  report 
echoed  faintly  from  cliff  to  cliff,  and  as  it  died  away 
a  coyote  somewhere  on  the  plain  above  began  to  yelp, 
answered  by  the  shrill  barking  of  a  little  dog  from  one 
of  the  tents;  then  the  nerve-racking  silence  again. 
Five  minutes  of  it,  probably— hours  it  seemed,  and  I 
could  stand  still  no  longer ;  so,  shoving  back  into  its 
holster  the  pistol  I  had  drawn,  I  turned  and,  lifting  a 
flap,  looked  into  the  tent.  A  lantern,  hung  well  up  to 
the  ridge-pole  in  front,  so  that  it  would  throw  no 
shadow  on  the  walls,  lighted  the  little  interior.  In  a 
cot  standing  on  one  side  the  two  younger  children,  a 
boy  and  a  girl  of  four  and  three  years,  lay  fast  asleep, 
the  elder  hugging  a  hatchet  with  both  arms.  On  a 
camp-stool  at  the  bed's  head  sat  Nora.  She  was  cry 
ing,  poor  thing,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  left 
hand,  while  her  right  held,  the  butt  resting  on  her 
knee,  one  of  those  sawed-off  shotguns  affected  by  ex 
press-messengers,  and  so  called  Wells-Fargos.  In 
front  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  tent  was  Madeline, 
trembling  and  white,  but  not  crying,  though  her  bare 
feet  worked  together  nervously.  She  had  just  been 
going  to  bed,  probably,  when  the  danger  came,  for 
her  frock  lay  on  the  floor  beside  her.  In  one  hand 
she  held  her  little  pistol,  a  box  of  its  tiny  cartridges 
in  the  other.  As  I  went  in  Nora  looked  up.  "  Gud 

28 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

avenin',  sorr,"  she  gasped  between  her  sobs,  and  Made 
line  gave  me  an  uncertain  kind  of  smile ;  but  before  I 
could  speak  a  movement  in  the  crowd  outside  caused 
me  to  drop  the  canvas  and  turn  back  to  my  place  in 
the  line. 

The  shadow  had  receded  somewhat  now,  and  many 
stood  in  the  moonlight.  Lopes  had  stepped  backward 
into  the  crowd,which  was  increasing  every  second— one 
couldn't  tell  just  how,  but  simply  became  conscious 
from  time  to  time  that  the  cluster  was  extending  on 
both  sides  and  growing  deeper.  There  was  under 
growth  on  our  right,  and  in  its  shadow  a  man  stole, 
crouching,  around  our  flank.  Smiley  stood  there,  and 
his  derringer  barked  hoarsely.  The  figure  disappeared, 
whether  hit  or  not  we  never  knew.  Then  a  sharp  crack 
from  behind,  and  a  man  howled  and  clapped  both 
hands  to  his  thigh.  I  looked  around— we  all  did,  I 
think— in  time  to  see  Madeline's  head  and  shoulders 
protruding  from  under  the  tent,  just  before  she  disap 
peared  suddenly,  exactly  as  though  Nora  had  caught 
her  by  the  ankles  and  pulled  her  back.  A  young 
fellow,  taking  advantage  of  our  divided  attention, 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  rifle  Lopes  had  dropped. 

Three  of  us  fired  at  once,  and  he  fell  limply,  with 
his  breast  across  the  piece  which  had  cost  him  his  life, 
his  sombrero,  heavy  with  silver,  rolling  almost  to  our 
feet.  A  moment's  pause  was  broken  again  by  a  coyote 
on  the  desert  above,  and,  as  if  he  had  given  a  signal, 
was  answered  by  the  scratching  of  a  match  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  plaza ;  then,  with  a  crackle  and  roar, 
the  dry  thatch  forming  a  side  of  the  blacksmith  shop 

29 


Sand  and  Cactus 

blazed  up,  the  roof  caught,  and  all  was  bright  as  day 
in  an  instant.  A  man  sprang  away  from  the  burning 
shop,  and  Tim  fired  at  him— and  missed. 

A  shrill  yell,  such  as  greasers  delight  in  on  every 
occasion,  was  raised  far  back  in  the  crowd,  then  taken 
up  by  them  all,  and  the  whole  mass  surged  slowly  for 
ward.  Those  in  front  had  knives  in  their  hands,  or 
cheap  nickel-plated  six-shooters  of  the  British  bulldog 
variety,  and  advanced  slowly,  without  eagerness,  but 
more  as  if  forced  forward  by  those  behind  them. 

One  of  our  men— which  one  I  could  not  tell— cried 
out  to  them  to  halt.  A  shot  answered  him,  the  ball 
ripping  the  thigh  of  the  man  standing  next  me ;  then  a 
volley  crashed  from  our  men  as  if  by  command,  and  I 
could  see  a  man  drop  here  and  there.  The  wounded 
man,  Barton,  had  sunk  to  a  sitting  posture,  and,  steady 
ing  himself  by  passing  one  arm  round  my  leg,  was 
emptying  his  pistol  at  the  close-standing  band  of 
Mexicans. 

The  smoke  hung  in  a  low  cloud  in  front  of  us,  and  I 
remember,  in  a  confused  sort  of  way,  the  brisk  rattle 
of  the  pistol-shots,  twice  punctuated  by  the  roar  of 
Bailey's  big  duck-gun,  and  of  firing  into  the  dense 
smoke  rapidly  with  both  hands.  Our  opponents 
stopped,  then  gave  back  a  little,  and  the  firing  slacked 
somewhat. 

A  wandering  puff  of  wind  lifted  the  thickness,  show 
ing  a  man,  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  standing  ahead  of 
his  fellows.  I  shot  at  him,  and  he  pitched  forward  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  then  rolled  over  and  lay  still. 
The  sight  made  me  sick  for  one  moment,  but  I  forgot 

3° 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

it  in  the  next,  for,  as  a  warning  yell  sounded  from 
among  them,  the  crowd  scuttled  to  cover  like  a  flock 
of  frightened  quail.  For  an  instant  the  cause  was  not 
apparent ;  but  a  sharp  report  was  followed  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  the  sheriff  from  the  thicket- 
lined  road,  with  twelve  men  at  his  back,  all  riding  as 
fast  as  their  wiry  cow-ponies  could  run.  Most  of  the 
Mexicans  had  taken  to  the  chaparral,  but  a  few  ran 
down  the  road,  and,  crossing  our  front,  the  officers 
followed  these  without  a  sound.  A  few  scattering 
shots  came  from  the  brush,  and  the  horse  ridden  by 
one  of  the  deputies  reared  and  fell  backward  with  a 
scream.  The  man  was  up  in  a  second,  uncinching  his 
saddle,  while  Brown  and  Smiley,  running  to  the  corral, 
caught  the  mare  Madeline  had  ridden  that  day,  and  led 
her  out.  She  was  saddled,  mounted,  and  away  while 
one  tells  of  it. 

The  field  was  clear,  and,  to  my  surprise,  the  dead  and 
wounded  were  not  lying  around  in  bloody  heaps,  as  I 
expected.  Six  there  were,  and  our  rodman,  seven  in  all. 
The  latter  had  but  a  graze,  and,  when  we  had  bound 
it  up  and  given  him  some  whiskey,  professed  himself 
quite  comfortable,  and  willing  to  do  it  all  over  again. 

The  posse  had  not  gone  far,  and  soon  returned.  The 
sheriff  rode  up  to  where  we  were  standing. 

"  You  want  to  get  youah  wife  an'  the  kids  away  from 
heah,"  he  said  to  Tim.  "  I  can't  spah  no  men  to  guahd 
this  place,  an'  thah's  no  tellin'  when  them  greasahs'll 
be  back  with  a  lot  moah  from  below.  Go  to  the  big 
camp.  We'll  help  you  hahness  up,  but  you  must  get 
a  wiggle  on." 

31 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Six  snorting  horses  were  led  out,  and  the  rattling 
harness  thrown  across  their  backs  by  many  willing 
hands,  when  Madeline,  fully  dressed,  left  the  tent 
and  walked  over  to  the  corral.  She  stood  looking 
into  the  enclosure  for  a  minute,  then  sat  down  in  a 
heap  on  the  sand,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  knowl 
edge  of  her,  commenced  to  cry.  "I  haven't  got  no 
horse  to  ride,"  she  wailed.  It  was  only  for  a  moment, 
though,  for  she  rose,  and  glancing  around  severely  to 
see  if  her  weakness  had  been  noticed,  she  stalked  up 
to  the  wagon  and  began  helping  to  pack  the  things 
handed  into  it.  Everything  was  soon  ready :  the  cots, 
bedding,  children,  and  Nora  were  bundled  in ;  Barton 
was  helped  to  the  front  seat  with  Tim ;  we  followed, 
finding  places  anywhere,  and  the  horses  started  in  a 
canter  over  the  level  road  toward  the  home  camp. 

We  had  toiled  up  a  hill  at  a  walk,  and  had  just 
reached  its  top,  when  Tim,  with  an  oath,  pulled  in 
his  team  and  set  his  brake  hard.  Nora  gave  a  smoth 
ered  howl,  and  some  one  started  to  speak,  but  checked 
himself  and  listened  instead.  We  all  heard  it  then— a 
sound  as  of  many  galloping  horses,  far  away,  and  then 
a  silence,  which  Tim  broke. 

"For  good  or  ill,"  said  he,  " they've  crossed  the 
stretch  of  baked  clay,  and  are  on  the  sand  now.  They'll 
come  to  rock  directly.  Listen." 

Another  moment,  and  the  clang  of  hoofs  was  plainly 
heard. 

"Them  horses  is  shod.  The  Virgin  be  praised, 
they're  friends." 

"Amen,"  responded  Nora,  with  a  sigh. 

32 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

But  Smiley  jumped  to  his  feet  and,  putting  both 
hands  to  his  mouth,  gave  the  cry,  well  known  in  that 
country,  from  which  the  tribe  of  Mexican  Indians 
take  their  name.  "Ya#w/"  he  called;  then  again, 
"  Yaqui ! " 

The  shrill  falsetto  of  this  carries  far,  like  the  "  coee  " 
of  the  Australians. 

"Yaqui !  "—a  third  time. 

They  heard  us  now  j  a  chorus  came  back  in  answer, 
and  in  another  few  seconds  they  had  rounded  the  point 
of  the  mesa,  and  streamed  toward  us  in  the  moonlight, 
sixty  strong.  At  their  head  rode  the  handsome  form 
of  "  Greaser  Pete,"  saloon-keeper,  gambler,  reputed 
stage-robber,  and  all-round  "  bad  man,"  yet,  withal,  a 
very  decent  sort  of  fellow  according  to  his  somewhat 
limited  light.  He  had  earned  his  nickname  from  his 
relentless  hatred  toward  the  race  of  which  it  spoke,  and 
a  more  congenial  mission  than  his  present  one  could 
not  be  found.  A  mixed  lot  followed  him :  mechanics, 
saloon-men,  gamblers,  and  cow-boys,  all  were  repre 
sented.  Mounted  though  they  were  each  on  the  first 
four-legged  thing  he  could  snatch  out  of  the  nearest 
corral,  some  with  saddles  but  more  without,  all  were 
heavily  armed  and  were  riding  fast.  Our  corral  boss 
was  among  them,  and  beside  his  little  white  mare 
Bailey's  roan  horse  and  my  black,  both  fully  equipped, 
loped  contentedly  along. 

They  gathered  around  us  with  eager  questions,  put 
all  at  once ;  but  their  leader  raised  his  hand  to  command 
silence,  and  having  learned  in  a  few  words  all  there 
was  to  know,  turned  to  his  followers  and  made  what 

33 


Sand  and  Cactus 

was,  for  him,  a  rather  lengthy  address.  "  Boys,"  said 
he,  "  it  seems  we're  a  little  late ;  but  we  may  see  some 
fun  yet,  if  we  hurry.  Vamenos" 

Then,  with  a  yell,  the  "committee"  dashed  off,  and 
we  started  once  more  for  our  camp,  which  we  reached 
without  further  incident.  We  saw  that  the  Mullaneys 
were  made  comfortable  in  a  tent  vacated  by  a  foreman 
for  their  use,  and  having  helped  Barton  to  bed,  turned 
to  our  own,  well  tired  out. 

I  had  slept  about  ten  minutes,  as  I  thought  at  the 
time,  when  I  became  dimly  conscious  that  I  was  not 
resting  easily.  I  looked  up,  and  saw  that  it  was  day 
light,  and  that  Bailey,  half  dressed,  was  shaking  me 
violently  by  the  shoulder. 

"Wake  up,  man,  can't  you?"  he  said,  as  soon  as  I 
was  sufficiently  awake  to  understand  him.  "  You're 
wanted.  That  child  Madeline  has  gone,  and  we're 
afraid  something's  happened  her.  Search-parties  are 
going  out.  The  chiefs  sending  every  one."  He  left 
me  to  complete  his  own  toilet ;  but  I  was  wide  awake 
now,  and,  tumbling  into  my  clothes,  opened  the  door, 
to  find  Bailey,  already  mounted,  and  holding  the  bridle 
of  one  of  my  horses,  impatiently  awaiting  me.  We 
went  slowly  to  save  our  stock,  for  we  could  not  tell 
how  far  they  might  have  to  travel  before  they  saw 
their  corrals  again,  and  as  we  jogged  along  he  told 
me  what  little  he  knew  of  the  affair. 

It  seemed  that  when  she  woke  Nora  had  missed 
Madeline,  and  on  making  inquiry  had  found  that  she 
had  been  seen  by  a  teamster,  feeding  his  horses  half 
an  hour  before  daybreak,  on  Bisnaga,  cantering  to- 

34 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

ward  the  camp  she  had  left  the  night  before.  Tim 
and  another  man  had  gone  at  once  to  look  for  her; 
but,  except  that  Bisnaga  was  standing  tied  to  the 
corral  fence,  no  sign  of  the  child  could  they  find,  so 
they  returned  and  roused  the  head  camp.  It  was 
thought  that  she  had  returned  after  something  forgot 
ten  in  the  hurry  of  leaving,  and  all  feared  that  she  had 
met  with  some  accident.  An  object  nearing  us  rap 
idly,  as  we  talked,  we  now  saw  to  be  a  buckboard, 
driven  in  a  furious  gallop  by  Selwin,  one  of  our  in 
strument-men. 

"Found  her?"  shouted  Bailey,  as  the  team  came 
close  enough  for  him  to  be  heard. 

Selwin  nodded. 

"Alive?" 

"  Just.     Pm  going  for  her  mother  now." 

The  buckboard  rushed  by,  and  we  pushed  on  hur 
riedly. 

A  group  of  men  stood  around  the  entrance  of  the 
tent.  Pete  was  among  them,  and  the  sheriff  with 
some  of  his  posse.  "We  found  her  in  the  brush 
yonder,"  one  of  them  was  explaining  to  a  new-comer, 
as  we  rode  up.  "  Leastways,  that  little  yaller  dawg 
did.  'Twas  a  knife  that  done  it,  all  right  enough, 
with  a  greaser  at  the  end  of  it." 

The  tent  seemed  to  have  grown  smaller  since  I  had 
seen  it  the  night  before,  as  I  entered  it.  It  was 
crowded  with  men,  gathered  around  a  cot  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  little  space,  on  which,  partly  covered 
with  barley-sacks,  lay  Madeline.  Her  eyes  were  closed, 
and  she  was  breathing  heavily.  The  upper  part  of  her 

35 


Sand  and  Cactus 

clothing  had  been  cut  away,  and  her  body,  throat,  and 
right  arm  were  swathed  in  rude  bandages  made  of 
bandanna  handkerchiefs  torn  into  strips,  their  white 
spots  in  places  dyed  a  uniform  color  with  the  ground 
work.  Her  left  arm  lay  by  her  side,  the  hand  tightly 
clinched.  A  bucket  of  reddened  water,  with  a  crim 
soned  cloth  lying  over  its  edge,  stood  beside  the  bed, 
flanked  by  a  flask  of  whiskey.  On  an  upturned  soap 
box  by  the  cot's  head  sat  Tim,  leaning  over  and  fan 
ning  the  child  softly  with  his  broad  white  sombrero. 

"  Has  she  been  conscious  ? "  I  asked. 

"No,  sorr,"  he  replied,  with  a  catch  in  his  breath, 
"Just  loike  this.  She  med  a  little  moan,  like,  once, 
that's  all.  Shell  never  tell  who  done  it,  I  fear." 

One  of  the  men  standing  near  turned  and,  with  a 
muttered  oath,  left  the  tent.  The  air  was  stifling  in 
there,  and  close  with  the  odor  of  packed  humanity ; 
and  seeing  Madeline's  knife  in  its  cowhide  sheath 
lying  on  the  ground  by  my  feet,  I  drew  it,  and, 
making  two  long  slits  in  the  canvas,  opened  a  trian 
gular  window  there.  Some  one  followed  suit  on  the 
other  side,  and  then  the  fresh  breeze  gushed  through ; 
and  Tim,  dropping  his  hat,  rested  his  chin  on  nis 
hands,  and  stared  hard  at  the  ground  between  his 
knees. 

The  air  seemed  to  revive  Madeline  a  little,  for  she 
moved  her  left  arm  and  opened  her  eyes.  I  was  bend 
ing  over  her,  and  as  she  saw  me  she  smiled  faintly  and 
unclasped  her  hand.  It  held  her  necklace— the  buckles 
with  the  little  fish  I  had  given  her.  Then  her  eyes 
closed  again,  and  the  tin  buckles  jingled  on  the 

36 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

ground.  A  cow-boy  who  stood  near  lifted  them,  re 
placing  them  gently  in  her  upturned  palm. 

I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  so  I  left  the  tent  and 
joined  the  men  outside.  I  asked  the  particulars,  but 
there  were  few  to  be  told.  A  little  dog— the  same 
which  had  answered  the  coyote  the  night  before— had 
guided  them  to  where  she  lay  in  the  chaparral,  and  they 
had  brought  her  in ;  that  was  all.  A  man  had  gone 
over  to  the  station  to  wire  for  a  doctor  and  a  priest,  but 
it  wasn't  likely  they  would  be  in  time  to  do  any  good. 

Some  men  were  beating  around  through  the  brush, 
and  one  of  them  now  walked  quickly  toward  us.  "  I 
found  this  little  gun  out  yonder/7  he  said.  "  It's  hers, 
ain't  it?" 

A  dozen  voices  testified  to  this,  and  the  sheriff, 
taking  it  from  his  hand,  threw  open  the  breech  and 
drew  out  an  empty  cartridge-shell.  "  She  done  her 
little  best,"  said  he,  holding  it  up  so  all  could  see.  "  She 
surely  mahked  him,  whoevah  he  was.  Find  a  greasah 
with  a  pinhole  in  him,  and  we've  nailed  the  man." 

"  You  can't  tell  by  that.  She  got  one  last  night," 
objected  Bailey. 

"  That  cuss  is  all  right,"  answered  the  sheriff.  "  He 
had  one  o'  those  tinwah  six-shootahs,  so  somebody 
killed  him.  He  didn't  do  no  cuttin'." 

The  buckboard  had  accomplished  its  mission  quickly, 
and  now  came  rattling  up  the  plaza,  the  horses— a 
different  pair  from  those  we  had  seen  before— pant 
ing  and  white  with  sweat.  Nora  was  helped  to  the 
ground,  and  as  she  entered  the  tent  the  men  inside 
filed  silently  out. 

37 


Sand  and  Cactus 

We  began  to  organize  now.  One  half  of  the  men, 
under  the  sheriff,  were  to  go  through  the  down-river 
camps,  to  catch  the  criminal  in  case  he  had  attempted 
to  hide  himself  among  his  brethren  there  j  the  rest, 
divided  into  small  squads,  were  to  search  the  country 
round  about.  I  attached  myself  to  the  former  party, 
for,  knowing  the  localities  through  which  we  were  to 
go  from  my  daily  work,  I  could  be  of  more  use  so.  It 
took  us  a  good  while— until  well  along  in  the  afternoon 
—to  get  through  this  j  for  the  sheriff  was  very  thor 
ough,  and  each  Mexican  we  met  was  put  through  a  most 
rigid  examination.  Then,  at  the  very  last,  we  found 
what  we  thought  was  a  most  promising  trail,  and  fol 
lowed  it,  ten  of  us,  while  the  rest  worked  on  down  the 
river.  Straight  across  the  desert  it  went,  we  follow 
ing  fast,  and  finding,  at  its  end,  an  inoffensive  old 
prospector  who,  with  two  burros,  was  making  for  the 
placer-grounds  across  the  Arizona  line.  Tired  and 
disgusted,  Bailey  and  I  tried  to  get  back  by  a  short 
cut,  got  lost,  and  reached  our  camp  at  midnight,  raven 
ously  hungry  and  tired  out. 

The  boys  were  still  up,  and  had  saved  some  canned 
corned  beef  and  biscuit  for  us,  and  as  we  ate,  in 
answer  to  our  questions,  told  us  that  we  were  the  last 
of  the  search-parties  to  come  in  except  Pete  and  his 
men,  and  no  one  knew  where  they  had  gone.  None 
of  the  others  had  found  anything.  The  priest  had 
come  in  on  muleback  an  hour  before.  Madeline  had 
rallied  a  little  for  a  few  minutes,  just  as  he  reached 
there,  and  had  tried  to  speak,  but  couldn't,  though, 
when  they  asked  her  as  to  her  assailant,  had  turned 

38 


Bisnaga's  Madeline 

her  eyes  toward  the  side  of  the  tent  where  the  corral 
lay,  so  they  thought  that  Lopes  was  the  man  we 
wanted.  Anyhow,  if  he  was  caught  we  would  accept 
that  hypothesis  as  correct,  and  run  it  out  on  those 
lines.  Didn't  we  think  that  was  the  best  way  ?  We 
did  think  so,  and  made  an  agreement,  on  the  strength 
of  this  additional  clew,  to  try  it  once  more  j  then  going 
to  our  quarters,  we  took  off  our  weapons  and  spurs, 
lying  down  otherwise  as  we  stood,  to  be  ready  when 
morning  came. 

We  had  just  fallen  into  a  doze,  or  at  least  I  had, 
when  a  footstep  on  the  veranda  aroused  me.  It  was 
easily  recognized  as  Selwin's,  who  was  lame,  and  I 
hailed  him. 

"How  is  the  child— have  you  heard?"  I  asked. 

"  She  died  an  hour  ago,"  he  replied,  and  limping  to 
his  room,  threw  himself  on  his  cot,  and  said  no  more. 

We  were  not  as  early  next  morning  as  we  had  in 
tended,— we  were  a  long  time  in  getting  to  sleep  the 
night  before,— and  it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  when  we 
got  away.  The  camp  was  very  still  as  we  rode  out 
from  it.  Not  at  all  a  Sunday  stillness,  for  there 
were  no  drunken  shouts  coming  from  its  saloons,  and 
the  voice  of  the  faro-dealer  was  not  heard,  but  a  de 
pressed  sort  of  silence  that  could  be  felt.  Prepara 
tions  for  the  funeral  were  already  under  way,  for  it 
was  to  take  place  at  noon.  Such  things  must  be  done 
quickly  in  that  country.  The  little  grave  was  already 
opened,  among  the  cluster  of  others,  on  a  rise  of  ground 
a  few  hundred  yards  away,  and  two  of  our  boys  were 
lining  it  with  greasewood  boughs,  as  the  best  substi- 

39 


Sand  and  Cactus 

tute  for  evergreen  that  was  to  be  had,  while  Selwin 
was  kneeling  over  a  little  cross  made  of  heavy  timber, 
on  which,  with  all  the  skill  of  a  practised  draughtsman, 
he  had  lettered  an  inscription,  and  was  now  carving  it 
deep  into  the  wood.  The  sight  did  not  foster  kindness 
of  feeling  toward  the  absent  Lopes,  and  we  pushed  on, 
making  for  the  nearest  ford ;  for  we  meant  to  try  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river  to-day  as  the  most  likely 
place  to  find  our  man. 

When  we  reached  it,  however,  we  saw,  where  the 
water  was  deepest,  a  tired  horse,  drinking  as  though 
he  would  never  get  enough,  while  on  his  back  sat 
Greaser  Pete,  covered  with  dust,  but  wearing  on  his 
handsome  and  rather  sad  face  an  expression  of  the 
most  complete  self-satisfaction.  He  looked  up  as  our 
horses  splashed  in. 

"  Did  you  get  him  ? "  I  called. 

"  I  believe  they  did/'  he  replied. 

"  Lopes?" 

"  Yep.     Little  hole  in  his  arm." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ? n 

"Can't  say.  Purgatory,  likely,  if  there  is  such  a 
place ;  if  not,  he  probably  went  straight  through  with 
out  stopping."  Pete  was  becoming  facetious.  This 
was  something  new. 

"  How  did  they  send  him  there  ? "  asked  Bailey. 

"Cabled  him,   I  imagine,"  was  the  response. 

I  looked  at  his  saddle-bow.  The  lariat  that  had  al 
ways  hung  there  was  missing  now,  and  Pete,  follow 
ing  my  glance,  smiled,  and,  calling  upon  his  horse, 
walked  out  of  the  river  and  cantered  away. 

40 


SPECS 


SPECS 


SPECS'S  advent  did  not  create  a  favorable  impression. 
It  was  a  frightfully  hot  day,  even  for  Arizona. 
The  sun  seemed  fairly  to  have  burnt  out  all  the 
life  in  the  air.  The  remolinos,  as  the  Mexicans  call  the 
baby  whirlwinds  which  almost  always  are  dancing 
about  over  the  desert,  had  stopped  to  rest.  I  had 
been  to  Sentinel  for  the  mail,  and  was  returning  to 
our  construction  camp  on  the  Gila,  fifteen  miles  away. 

It  was  a  dismal  place  enough  that  I  left  behind  me : 
just  a  little  collection  of  stores  and  saloons,  their  adobe 
walls  toning  in  with  the  desert  from  which  they  had 
sprung;  the  red-painted  railway-station  and  water- 
tank  alone  made  spots  of  color  to  relieve  the  gray  of 
the  desert,  now  turned  to  silver  by  the  glaring  sun. 

I  had  just  started,  when  the  sound  of  hurrying  hoofs 
made  me  look  around.  It  was  Barton,  the  sheriff,  and 
he  was  waving  his  hand  in  signal.  I  pulled  up. 

"  'Fraid  you'll  have  to  come  back  an'  help  us  out,"  he 
said,  as  he  stopped  his  horse  alongside  mine.  "  That 
Industrial  Ahmy— detachment  of  it— has  rushed  the 
east-bound  freight,  an'  it's  comin'  by  through  heah. 

43 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Got  a  wiah  jus'  now  from  Aztec.  They'll  run  ovah 
the  burg  like  a  swahm  o'  Kansas  grahsshoppahs  if  we 
don't  watch  out,  an'  we've  got  to  roun'  up  all  han's  to 
keep  'em  on  the  train.  I  deputize  you.  Come  back." 

Now,  to  argue  with  an  Arizona  sheriff  is  unwise. 
Besides,  any  change  from  the  monotonous  camp  life 
was  welcome ;  so,  turning,  we  cantered  back  in  com 
pany.  Sentinel  had  twice  been  visited  by  these  gangs 
of  men,  who,  making  excuse  of  a  monster  labor  dem 
onstration  taking  place  in  the  East,  would  capture 
freight-trains  and  ride  to  and  fro  across  the  continent, 
levying  contributions  of  food  and  drink  from  the  in 
habitants  of  the  small  towns  through  which  they 
passed. 

The  "burg"  was  excited.  The  saloons  and  stores 
were  empty.  Their  proprietors  had  closed  them,  and 
were  preparing  to  barricade  the  doors  against  the 
in uch-f eared  rush  before  joining  their  customers,  who 
were  standing  on  the  track,  gazing  westward  along  its 
perspective  of  glittering  rails  at  a  black  speck,  trem 
bling  in  the  heat-waves  which  rose  from  between  them. 
The  speck  grew  larger  and  more  defined.  As  he  ar 
ranged  his  men,  the  sheriff  dashed  about  the  place, 
turning  and  sprinting  on  his  quick-footed  cow-pony, 
shouting  orders  arid  directions  in  a  voice  which  not 
even  his  excitement  could  rob  of  its  habitual  drawl. 

Then  the  rails  began  to  snap,  and,  shrieking  against 
its  brakes,  the  great  train  reluctantly  came  to  a  stand. 
It  was  covered  with  men.  They  were  lying  head  to 
feet  on  the  roofs  of  the  box-cars ;  they  rode  clinging 
to  the  ladders,  astride  the  brake-beams,  along  the 

44 


Specs 

truss-rods.  No  available  inch  of  space  was  left  va 
cant.  They  had  entire  possession  of  the  train.  The 
brake-wheels  had  been  turned  by  men  who  rose  from 
them  for  that  purpose,  and  having  accomplished  it  had 
resumed  their  seats,  while  from  their  caboose  in  the 
rear  the  train's  crew  looked  helplessly  on.  All  told, 
there  were  sixteen  of  us  pressed  into  the  sheriff's  ser 
vice—five  mounted,  the  rest  on  foot.  These  last 
patrolled  the  length  of  the  train,  while  we  on  horse 
back  obeyed  our  leader's  order  to  "  herd  'em  like  you 
would  a  bunch  er  cattle  at  night,"  by  riding  around 
the  train,  two  in  one  direction  and  three  in  the  other. 
They  were  a  curious  lot,  those  Industrials.  The 
Southwestern  hobo  predominated,  but  his  was  not 
the  only  type.  One  man  wore  rusty  black  clothes  of 
a  clerical  cut ;  several  had  the  gambler's  unmistakable 
air ;  some  looked  like  the  rustlers  they  doubtless  were ; 
while  others  were  probably  what  they  all  claimed  to  be 
—working-men.  Working-men  some  were,  I  know, 
for  they  had  been  employed  on  the  plant  of  which  I 
had  charge,  and  as  I  passed  them  hailed  me  by  name, 
begging  for  permission  to  return  to  their  work,  or  at 
least  to  get  water  to  drink— a  privilege  I  had  no  power 
to  grant. 

The  train  stopped  much  longer  than  was  usual,  for 
the  local  cars  could  not,  under  the  circumstances,  be 
switched  on  to  the  siding.  Neither  party  would  have 
permitted  this,  even  had  it  otherwise  been  possible, 
and  the  freight  had  to  be  unloaded  from  the  cars  as 
they  stood.  This  took  time.  Also  it  required  men, 
which  lessened  the  number  of  guards,  so  that  there 

45 


Sand  and  Cactus 

were  uneasy  movements  among  the  packed  masses  on 
the  tops  of  the  cars,  which  looked  as  though  an  at 
tempt  to  descend  might  follow.  Of  course  anything 
like  a  concerted  rush  on  their  part  would  have  swept 
us  all  aside  in  an  instant ;  but  that  required  a  leader, 
who  would  probably  be  shot,  so  no  one  cared  to  assume 
the  position,  and  we  were  allowed  to  ride  or  walk  our 
rounds,  assailed  by  nothing  worse  than  opprobrious 
epithets. 

On  the  car  next  to  the  last  a  pair  of  legs  attracted 
my  attention,  not  so  much  on  account  of  their  ex 
traordinary  length  as  by  the  fact  that  they  seemed  to 
have  no  body  belonging  to  them.  The  only  one  in  a 
proper  position  was  utterly  unsuited  in  appearance  for 
association  with  these  lengthy  extremities,  for  it  was 
round,  and  topped  by  a  broad,  plump  face,  fringed  by 
a  scrubby  growth  of  sandy  beard.  The  eyes— large, 
light,  and  circular— glared  wildly  through  a  pair  of 
gold-rimmed  spectacles  lacking  a  bow,  which  was 
replaced  by  a  bit  of  string  looped  over  one  of  the 
wearer's  prominent  ears. 

The  whole  expression  was  one  of  abject  fear.  It 
communicated  itself  even  to  the  legs  before  mentioned, 
and  in  this  way  I  became  conscious  of  their  relation 
ship.  There  was  no  visible  reason  for  this  terror. 
Each  time  a  sentry  turned  in  his  walk,  or  one  of  the 
horsemen  loped  past,  this  object  would  shrink  back, 
only  to  wriggle  to  the  edge  of  the  car  as  soon  as  the 
eyes  were  turned  away.  I  couldn't  make  him  out. 

I  had  just  rounded  the  engine  as  the  mounted  man 
ahead  of  me  disappeared  behind  the  caboose,  when  the 

46 


Specs 


queer  figure  launched  itself  into  the  air.  For  an  in 
stant  it  was  outlined  against  the  sky ;  then  I  heard  the 
loud  slap  of  the  big  feet  on  a  tie  of  the  siding.  The 
long  legs  stretched  themselves  into  a  run,  shambling 
and  awkward,  but  very  fast,  toward  the  northwest. 

It  really  was  surprising  what  time  they  made ;  but 
as  a  shot  rang  out  from  Barton's  pistol,  and  a  little 
spurt  of  dust  flew  up  from  the  desert,  this  record  was 
nowhere.  It  was  wonderful.  I  was  starting  in  pur 
suit,  but  the  sheriffs  quick  order  stopped  me,  for 
there  was  a  heave  through  the  prostrate  ranks  on  the 
train. 

Men  rose  to  their  feet.  One  or  two  jumped  to  the 
ground,  and  several  came  out  from  under  the  cars. 
The  guards  faced  around,  and  at  the  points  of  their 
weapons  or  by  blows  from  the  barrels,  they  forced  the 
Industrials  back.  One  man  drew  a  pistol  and,  resting 
it  across  a  brake- wheel,  fired  at— and  missed— one  of 
our  party,  whose  "  gun  "  echoed  the  shot.  With  a  cry, 
and  grasping  his  arm  with  his  left  hand,  the  assailant 
sat  down,  his  six-shooter  falling  on  the  sand  between 
the  cars.  By  that  time  the  freight  had  all  been  trans 
ferred.  The  engine  coughed,  the  cars  jerked  each  the 
other,  and  the  train  began  to  gather  way,  its  passen 
gers  settling  themselves  into  their  places  as  they  went. 
A  Mexican  standing  near  picked  up  the  fallen  pistol, 
and,  shoving  it  inside  his  shirt,  scuttled  away  in  fear 
that  some  one  might  claim  it. 

"  I  reckon  that's  all,"  said  the  sheriff,  riding  along 
side  me.  "  If  youah  goin'  home  now,  I'll  ride  along 
er  you  " ;  so  we  turned  and  jogged  together  down  the 

47 


Sand  and  Cactus 

dusty  trail.  "  Don't  seem  hahdly  faiah  to  keep  them 
hoboes  on  th'  cyahs  without  no  watah,  but  we  couldn't 
do  nothin'  else,  as  I  kin  see.  They'd  rushed  us,  suah, 
if  we'd  let  'em  off.  They'll  feed  an'  watah  'em  at 
Tucson,  like  as  not.  Wondah  what  that  cuss  broke 
away  foh,  in  a  country  like  this?  Say,  ain't  that 
him?  Mus'  be.  They  ain't  no  moah  than  one  man 
roun'  heah  built  tongs  fashion  like  that." 

The  road  curved  about  the  base  of  a  knoll,  and  as 
we  rounded  it  the  figure  spoken  of  had  come  into  view. 
It  was  the  deserter  from  the  Industrials ;  there  could 
be  no  mistaking  those  legs,  or  the  gait  they  took,  even 
at  that  distance. 

"  Let's  ask  him,  and  find  out,"  I  suggested  5  and  call 
ing  on  his  horse,  Barton  moved  toward  the  fugitive, 
and  I  followed.  The  ponies'  hoofs  fell  noiselessly  on 
the  sand ;  we  were  close  upon  him  before  he  heard  us 
and  turned.  His  face  grew  gray,  his  mouth  twitched, 
and  he  trembled.  He  made  a  movement  as  though  to 
run,  then  thought  better  of  it  and  threw  up  his  hands. 
Barton  pulled  up  and  stared  at  him  with  a  look  of 
blank  amazement. 

"  What  you  holdin'  youah  hands  that-a-way  foh  ? " 
he  asked. 

He  let  his  arms  fall. 

"Wheahyougoin' to?" 

No  answer. 

"What  you  scaiahed  at?" 

Still  not  a  word. 

"  What  did  you  cut  away  from  your  crowd  for,  and 
in  such  a  place  as  this  ? "  I  asked  him. 

48 


Specs 

His  goggle  eyes  turned  from  the  sheriff's  face  to 
mine,  and  for  the  first  time  he  spoke. 

"  Jus7  reckon  'twas  becus  I  wanted  ter  so  mighty 
bad/'  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a  whisper ; 
then,  turning,  he  slouched  quickly  away. 

The  sheriff  rode  on  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  "  That 
chromo  was  scaiahed  stiff,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Nevah 
saw  no  one  moah  frightened,  but  he  broke  through 
them  guns  jus'  'cause  he  i  wanted  to  so  mighty  bad.' 
Quee'es'  loco  I  evah  ran  agains'."  He  paused,  thought 
for  a  while,  and  added,  "  Unless  he's  f akin'  it  all.  I'll 
look  out  foh  him." 

I  saw  the  creature  again  the  next  morning,  as  I  was 
on  the  way  to  my  work.  He  was  leaning  against  the 
cottonwood  slip-rails  of  our  corral,  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  men,  attracted,  I  suppose,  by  his  peculiar 
appearance.  As  I  rode  by  I  could  hear  that  they 
were  plying  him  with  questions  of  a  personal  nature, 
the  answers  to  which  must  have  afforded  them  much 
diversion,  for  the  crowd  was  increasing,  and  from  time 
to  time  a  roar  of  harsh  laughter  came  over  the  desert, 
following  me,  faint  and  more  faintly,  until  I  passed 
out  of  hearing  down  the  trail. 

On  my  return  the  camp  was  ringing  with  his  doings. 

Anything  which  broke  the  dead  level  of  our  dull  life 
was  welcome,  so  "  Specs,"  as  he  was  promptly  chris 
tened,  became  at  once  a  feature  of  the  place,  his  fame 
reaching  even  to  the  engineer's  quarters,  perched  on  the 
edge  of  the  mesa.  He  was  so  extraordinarily  bashful, 
we  were  told,  that  he  hardly  dared  speak,  even  in 
answer  to  a  question.  And  then,  anything  would 

49 


Sand  and  Cactus 

frighten  him.  A  quick  word,  an  unexpected  sound, 
such  as  a  pistol-shot  fired  behind  his  back, — or  before 
his  face,  for  that  matter,— would  throw  him  into  a  "  fit 
of  scare"  so  extravagant  that  it  seemed  to  parody 
itself. 

This  was  most  amusing  j  but,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
majority,  he  had  one  drawback— he  would  not  drink. 
Gambling  was  his  one  vice.  Always  ready  to  do  any 
one  a  good  turn,  he  was  fed,  in  a  desultory  sort  of  way, 
by  those  whom  he  obliged ;  but  what  little  money  he 
earned  always  found  its  way  to  the  coffers  of  the  Cac 
tus  Cottage,  by  way  of  the  tables  topped  with  green 
cloth  to  be  found  therein.  One  day  he  had  worked 
continuously,  gaining  three  dollars  thereby.  As  the 
whistle  sounded  for  the  end  of  the  day's  labor,  Specs 
dropped  his  pick,  and  hurrying  to  his  foreman,  near 
whom  I  happened  to  be  standing,  he  stopped,  writhed, 
and  at  last  managed  to  ejaculate,  "  Time- check." 

"  Don't  be  a  clam,  Specs,"  replied  his  chief,  good- 
humoredly.  "You  jus'  want  this  so's  you  kin  steer 
yourself  'gains'  them  tin-horns  [gamblers]  again. 
You'll  only  go  broke,  an'  then  be  out  of  a  job.  Let 
it  go  till  pay-day." 

Specs  at  once  began  to  tremble,  opening  and  clos 
ing  his  mouth  like  a  landed  fish. 

"Time-check,"  he  gasped— "now." 

The  printed  form,  vouching  to  the  fact  that  Specs 
was  entitled  to  three  dollars  in  payment  for  a  day's 
work,  was  filled  out  and  handed  to  him.  He  took  it 
and  fled. 

"Goin'  to  get  it  discounted  by  that  thief  at  the 

5° 


Specs 


commissary,"  said  the  foreman.  "  Then  he'll  blow  it 
in  on  faro  down  to  the  Cactus  Cottage— damn  fool ! " 

I  watched  Specs  enter  the  little  adobe  commissary 
store,  then  strolled  to  the  grove  of  giant  sujuarro  cactus 
from  which  the  saloon  took  its  name  and  in  the  midst 
of  which  it  stood.  Through  its  canvas  walls  came  the 
rattle  of  chips  and  the  droning  voice  of  the  dealer. 

Barton,  the  sheriff,  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  thatched 
veranda.  He  was  generally  to  be  found  there.  Through 
the  open  door  the  rough  bar  could  be  seen.  I  nodded 
toward  it,  and  we  went  in,  the  sheriff  toddling  by 
my  side  on  his  three-inch  heels. 

"Does  he  play  heahf  Specs?  That  tongs-built 
galoot  1  No,  not  often,  f oh  he  don't  have  the  stuff  to 
blow,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  a  question  of  mine,  as  he 
filled  a  glass  brimful  of  the  malignant  whiskey  prev 
alent  in  that  region.  "  But  soon's  he  gets  a  couple 
er  nickels  he'll  float  aroun'  heah  to  pike  'em  off."  He 
took  the  contents  of  his  glass  at  a  gulp.  "Heah  he 
comes  now,"  Barton  went  on.  "  Got  a  system,  some 
says,  but  I  don't  see  what  it  can  be,  only  to  back  the 
losin'  cyahd.  Nevah  struck  the  joint  yet  'thout  he 
made  a  losin'." 

As  he  spoke  Specs  came  in.  He  was  walking  erect 
now,  and  rapidly,  his  round  face  flushed  with  excite 
ment.  His  three  dollars,  minus  twenty  per  cent, 
discount,  could  purchase  but  a  small  supply  of  the 
celluloid  chips;  but  he  clutched  them  eagerly,  and, 
going  to  the  faro-table,  began  to  play.  I  watched  him 
with  great  interest.  The  sheriff  looked  on  listlessly  j 
he  had  seen  it  all  before. 

51 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Under  the  excitement  Specs's  whole  manner  changed. 
He  straightened  himself,  his  mouth  closed  firmly,  and 
the  weak  china-blue  eyes  behind  the  spectacles  were 
fixed  on  the  board  with  a  concentration  which  I  would 
not  have  believed  possible.  But  in  a  very  short  time 
it  was  all  over  ;  I  doubt  if  he  won  a  single  stake  5  and 
even  when  playing  low,  two  dollars  and  forty  cents  will 
not  last  long. 

As  soon  as  the  last  chip  was  swept  into  the  bank  his 
excitement  vanished,  and  with  his  usual  look  of  apathy 
Specs  rose  and  started  to  leave. 

"Hoi7  on,"  Barton  called  after  him.    " Have  a  drink  ? " 

Specs  only  went  the  faster,  and  would  have  passed 
on,  but  the  other  barred  the  way,  asking : 

"  What  do  you  want  to  be  such  a  blame  fool  f oh 
as  to  run  'gains'  a  game  like  that  ?  " 

Specs  fumbled  at  his  glasses,  unhooking  them  first 
and  then  the  string  that  took  the  place  of  the  missing 
bow,  and  wiped  them  on  the  elbow  of  his  flannel  shirt. 
He  made  his  invariable  reply.  "  Keckon  'twas  becus  I 
wanted  ter  so  mighty  bad,"  he  said,  and  shuffled  away. 

"  He  might  want  a  hawse  so  bad  one  er  these  times 
that  he's  'blaiged  to  roun'  up  some  man's  bunch,"  said 
the  sheriff  to  me.  "Wheels  in  his  haid?  Maybe. 
But  he's  always  doin'  some  fool  thing  that  scaiahs 
him  stiff,  jus'  'cause  he  wants  ter  so  bad  that  even  the 
scaiah  cyan't  hold  him  out.  See  ?  " 

That,  indeed,  seemed  the  key-note  of  Specs's  char 
acter.  His  desires  never  led  him  to  take  a  horse,  to  be 
sure,  but  they  made  him  do  many  other  things.  This 
rather  reached  a  limit  when,  one  day,  he  was  found  in 

52 


Specs 


a  pitiable  state  of  fright,  with  a  stick  of  No.  1  dyna 
mite,  which  he  had  laid  on  a  bowlder  and  was  just 
about  to  pound  with  a  rock  held  in  his  hand. 

He  was  stopped  before  he  could  proceed  further  with 
his  experiment,  and  on  being  questioned  as  to  the  cause 
of  his  amusing  himself  in  so  singular  a  manner,  he 
could  give  no  better  reason  than  his  extreme  anxiety 
to  ascertain  what  would  happen. 

"Why  didn't  you  fools  let  7im  faind  out,  if  he 
wanted  to?"  Barton  asked  the  men  who  had  found 
Specs  at  his  dangerous  game.  "  He  was  all  by  his  lone 
some,  an'  nothin'  couldn't  have  been  huht." 

But,  with  the  exception  of  the  sheriff,  the  men  rather 
liked  Specs,  in  a  contemptuous  kind  of  way.  He  was 
so  amusing— obliging,  too ;  and  harmless,  we  had  all 
supposed,  but  now  we  were  harassed  with  doubts  as 
to  that. 

Still,  he  was  allowed  to  wander  about  the  works,  and 
his  life,  for  a  time,  was  less  troubled  by  his  fellows,  for 
his  fear-induced  antics  had  lost  the  attraction  of  nov 
elty.  Some  one  had  given  him  the  vicious  skeleton 
of  a  mule,  Balaam  by  name,  whose  gaits,  the  donor 
thought,  resembled  those  of  Specs  5  and  insecurely 
perched  on  the  rickety  saddle,  he  would  roam  over  the 
country,  far  away  from  his  tormentors.  But  this 
peace  of  mind  was  too  good  to  last. 

I  noticed,  one  day,  as  I  was  approaching  the  Cactus 
Cottage,  that  the  attenuated  mule  was  standing  de 
jectedly  before  its  door.  Specs  came  hurrying  out  of  the 
saloon  as  I  pulled  up  in  front  of  it,  followed  by  a  crowd 
of  grinning  men,  headed  by  Hughes,  the  proprietor. 

53 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  She's  a  daughter  of  ould  Brainard's,  up  to  Section 
15,  Specs,  me  boy,"  Hughes  was  saying.  "  Annie,  her 
nem  is,  an'  a  mighty  fine  gurrul.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  you're  interested.  Will  you  give  us  an  invite  to 
the  weddin',  now,  when  it  comes  off  ?  n 

A  shout  of  laughter  interrupted  him.  Specs  had 
started  to  unfasten  his  mule,  which  was  tied  to  the 
hitching-rail,  but  Hughes's  hand  was  on  the  knot. 
Probably  by  way  of  relieving  his  embarrassment, 
Specs  stooped  and  pulled  out  a  cactus  thorn  which 
was  sticking  in  the  mule's  hock.  Balaam  lashed  out 
viciously. 

"  Always  look  a  gift-mule  in  the  mouth,  Specs,  me 
son.  'Tis  safer  so,  fer  it's  a  poor  mule  what  won't 
wurrk  both  ways,"  Hughes  went  on.  "Now, as  I  was 
sayin'  about  Annie—" 

Specs  tore  the  reins  loose,  bundled  on  to  the  back 
of  his  steed,  and  the  brute  bucked  himself  away,  dis 
appearing  down  the  trail. 

I  had  seen  the  girl  several  times— the  red-cheeked, 
buxom  daughter  of  a  settler  on  one  of  the  up-river 
ranches.  Though  she  had  been  in  the  place  but  a 
short  time,  she  was  already  the  acknowledged  belle  in 
that  region  of  few  women,  and  something  of  a  coquette 
in  her  way.  Specs  had  seen  her  in  one  of  his  .eques 
trian  wanderings,  and  had  at  last  managed  to  gather 
sufficient  courage  to  inquire  of  Hughes  as  to  her 
identity.  Hence  his  flight. 

It  was  difficult  to  imagine  Specs  in  the  character  of 
a  love-sick  swain,  and  no  one  really  thought  so  until, 
at  last,  his  conduct  showed  that  this  was  indeed  the 

54 


Specs 


case.  He  never  spoke  to  the  girl,  so  far  as  was 
known  j  only  haunted  her  with  the  persistence  of  her 
shadow.  Wherever  she  went,  there  he  was.  A  long 
way  behind,  always,— out  of  sight,  if  he  could  manage 
it,— but  there,  nevertheless.  Each  morning,  as  she 
lifted  the  tent-flap  that  served  as  the  front  door  of 
the  family  dwelling,  she  would  find  evidence  of  his 
devotion.  This  would  take  the  form  of  some  service 
done,  or  oftener  a  little  offering  of  game  or  the  red- 
pulped  fruit  of  the  sujuarro,  which  are  esteemed 
luxuries  on  account  of  their  inaccessibility.  How 
Specs  obtained  them,  guarded  as  they  are  by  a  dozen 
yards,  perhaps,  of  sharpest  cactus  spines,  no  one  could 
tell.  But  he  managed  it  somehow,  and  after  placing 
his  gift  where  she  could  not  help  seeing  it  as  she  left 
the  shack,  he  would  hide,  coyote-like,  in  the  chaparral, 
surrounding  the  house  enclosure,  in  order  that  he 
might  see  her  as  she  appeared.  Sometimes  she  would 
take  no  notice  of  his  offerings,  but  would  leave  them 
to  shrivel  in  the  torrid  sun,  knowing  that  some  time 
during  the  next  night  the  dried  remnant  would  be  re 
placed  by  another  and,  if  possible,  a  larger  or  a  varied 
gift,  left  in  the  hope  that  she  might,  at  last,  relent. 
When,  finally,  her  appetite  would  triumph  over  her 
desire  to  torture  him,  he  would  accept  the  concession, 
in  all  faith,  as  an  evidence  of  singular  favor  toward 
himself,  and  would  become  almost  bold,  for  the  time, 
in  his  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men. 

No  one,  of  course,  took  the  affair  seriously.  Even 
Sam  Hitchcock,  the  most  favored  of  Annie's  many 
admirers,  refused  to  be  jealous  of  Specs.  But  the 

55 


Sand  and  Cactus 

chaff  was  unlimited,  some  of  it  falling  on  Annie,  so 
that  she  became  much  ashamed  of  her  adorer,  and 
strove,  by  utter  disregard  of  his  existence,  to  discour 
age  him.  Then  his  life  was  not  a  joy  to  him,  and  he 
kept  away  from  all  his  kind  as  much  as  he  could ;  but 
his  offerings  at  the  shrine  of  his  divinity,  though 
always  rejected,  never  failed  in  their  regularity. 

But  another  and  graver  affair  was  forcing  itself  on 
the  popular  mind.  The  Apaches  were  up.  They  had 
already  left  their  reservations  and  were  coming  down 
the  river.  At  first  there  were  only  rumors  of  a 
murder  here  and  there,  in  isolated  cases  and  far 
away,  but  coming  nearer  and  becoming  more  fre 
quent  as  the  savages  gathered  courage  from  success 
and  force  from  their  more  cautious  brethren  who  had 
hitherto  held  back.  Men  hesitated  before  going  out 
alone.  The  smoke  of  burning  stacks  or  ranch-houses 
had  been  seen.  Finally  the  word  came  that  a  war- 
party,  mounted  on  good  ponies  and  seventy  strong, 
probably  a  detachment  from  a  still  larger  force,  had 
been  sighted  by  cow-boys  rounding  up  their  brand  on 
the  upper  ranges. 

A  few  of  the  ranchers  who  had  adobe  houses  bar 
ricaded  and  prepared  to  hold  them ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  leaving  their  flimsy  shacks  to  the  mercy  of  who 
ever  should  come,  they  sent  their  families  to  our  camp 
as  the  strongest  available  place.  No  rush  could  carry 
this  position ;  indeed,  there  was  little  danger  of  any 
attempt  being  made,  for  we  were  nearly  three  hun 
dred  strong. 

All  regular  work  had  stopped.    A  breastwork  of 

56 


Specs 


sand-bags  surrounded  a  little  plateau  in  the  centre  of 
our  camp,  and  to  strengthen  the  defence  still  further, 
mechanics  were  connecting  some  dynamite  cartridges, 
buried  in  the  sand  of  the  plain  outside,  with  the  blast 
ing  batteries  which  were  to  fire  them.  A  confused 
mass  of  household  goods  littered  the  enclosed  space, 
where  most  of  the  men  stood  in  groups,  discussing  the 
outlook.  A  child  was  crying,  to  an  accompaniment  of 
women's  voices,  raised  and  made  querulous  by  the 
anxiety  of  their  owners.  Over  all,  through  the  broil 
ing  heat,  floated  the  choking  dust  and  the  smell  of 
horses.  Barton  rode  slowly  around  the  camp,  telling 
off  each  family  as  he  came  to  it,  in  order  to  make  sure 
that  all  were  present  j  and  I  found  time  to  notice,  in 
a  vague  sort  of  way,  that  Specs  was  shuffling  rapidly 
up  and  down,  muttering  to  himself,  his  arms  twitching 
nervously.  Each  time  he  met  any  one  at  all  in  author 
ity,  he  would  stop  and  seem  about  to  speak  j  but  no  one 
helped  him  begin,  so  he  would  pass  on,  twitching  and 
muttering  as  before. 

The  sheriff  had  finished  his  round,  and  pulling  up 
his  horse,  he  sat,  with  a  troubled  look,  facing  the  group 
of  men  near  which  I  was  standing.  "  Brainard's  out 
fit  ain't  heah,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  see  wheah  they  can 
be  at.  They  stahted  to  come  in,  I  know.  Got  to  find 
'em— can't  leave  'em  theah.  Which  er  you  boys'll  go  ?  " 

He  was  looking  at  me  as  he  spoke.  I  nodded.  I 
didn't  want  to  go,  but  I  hadn't  backbone  enough  to 
refuse  then.  Specs  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  disap 
peared.  Sam  stood  close  beside  me.  "I'll  go,  of 
course,"  he  said  quietly,  and,  turning,  walked  toward 

57 


Sand  and  Cactus 

his  horses.  Many  volunteered— most  of  them  young 
men  and  unmarried,  but  some  had  wives.  Barton 
may  or  may  not  have  been  right  in  attributing  to  this 
fact  their  willingness  to  risk  their  scalps,  but  he  re 
fused  them,  for  the  twelve  men  selected  were  all  single. 

The  horses  were  soon  ready,  and  we  were  mounted, 
when  Specs,  on  his  mule,  rode  up  and  joined  us.  The 
sheriff  started  to  remonstrate  j  but,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  knowledge  of  him,  Specs  interrupted.  "  I'm  goin'," 
he  said  j  "  I  wanter,  and  I'm  goin'.  If  you  won't  let  me 
go  along  er  you,  I'll  go  myself ;  but  I'll  go." 

There  was  no  time  to  argue.  He  was  unarmed ;  but 
some  one  thrust  a  Wells-Fargo  into  his  hand,  and  gave 
him  a  derisive  cheer  as  his  mount,  more  diagram-like 
than  ever,  fell  in  behind  us  as  we  settled  into  a  lope 
along  the  trail  leading  to  the  upper  ford.  Mile  after 
mile  of  the  road  stretched  away  behind  us.  The  thick 
dust  hung  like  a  curtain  at  our  backs,  save  when  a 
breath  of  air  would,  for  an  instant,  lift  it  aside,  revealing 
Balaam  and  his  rider,  both  dust-colored,  pounding  reso 
lutely  along  in  our  wake,  farther  and  farther  behind. 

"  The  trail  takes  a  tuhn  ovah  beyond  the  f  ah  bank," 
said  Barton,  as  we  splashed  through  the  ford,  "  an'  I 
reckon  we'll  cut  across  the  loop  it  makes.  It's  shawteh, 
an'  if  any  In'ians  is  follerin',  maybe  we  kin  take  'em 
from  behin'  that  way." 

We  had  stopped  to  water  our  horses ;  Specs  had  had 
time  to  come  up,  and  was  now  riding  with  us,  the 
nose  of  his  mule  looking  very  new  and  fresh  where  it 
had  been  washed  in  the  process  of  drinking.  But  it 
soon  became  gray  again,  like  the  rest  of  him. 

58 


Specs 

We  left  the  road  and  struck  across  the  prairie. 

The  country  became  rough :  cactus  hedges  and 
gnarled  mesquit  and  sage-brush;  then  arroyos  and 
knolls  of  volcanic  slag  to  be  jumped  or  scrambled 
over ;  and  finally  the  level  plain  once  more,  with  the 
trail,  like  a  white  ribbon,  in  the  distance.  Barton 
reached  it  first.  He  gave  a  warning  cry,  and,  turning, 
rode  furiously  up  the  road. 

A  glance  at  the  ground  showed  his  reason  j  for  there 
were  wagon-tracks  in  the  wind-blown  sand,  and,  almost 
obliterating  them,  the  footprints  of  unshod  ponies.  We 
all  streamed  along  behind  him,  some  of  us,  perhaps, 
feeling  as  uncomfortable  as  I  did.  The  footprints  in 
dicated  only  a  small  party,  which  would  surely  give 
before  us ;  but  one  could  never  tell  where  the  rest  of 
the  band  might  be.  Furthermore,  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  be  potted  at  long  range,  and  this  might  happen  at 
any  time  now. 

No  one  spoke.  The  thick  dust  muffled  the  hoof- 
beats,  and  the  click  of  long  spur-chains  against 
wooden  stirrups,  and  the  undertone  of  faint,  silvery 
ringing  made  by  the  linked  ends  of  the  bridle-reins, 
only  served  to  underline  the  great  silence. 

We  were  nearing  the  river  again,  where  it  runs 
through  its  deep  canon  of  black  rock. 

Across  the  low  rise  that  separated  us  from  it,  a  little 
breeze,  scarcely  felt  against  the  hot  air  rushing  by  our 
faces,  brought  with  it  the  faint  sound  of  a  few  drop 
ping  rifle-shots.  We  pushed  on  still  faster.  The 
whine  of  a  bullet,  which  made  some  of  us  duck,  was 
followed  by  another  report,  much  closer,  and  a  puff 

59 


Sand  and  Cactus 

of  smoke  curled  up  from  behind  a  bowlder  on  our 
right. 

The  sheriff  reached  to  the  rifle-bucket  under  his  left 
knee,  and  we  topped  the  rise. 

A  low  wall,  the  relic  of  some  long-forgotten  Indian 
fight,  protected  the  upper  end  of  a  broad  gully,  which, 
cutting  the  cliff,  led  from  the  mesa-land  to  the  river ; 
and  over  the  top  of  this  wall  peeped  the  white-canvas 
tilt  of  a  prairie-schooner. 

This,  and  the  sight  of  five  Indian  ponies  rapidly 
getting  their  owners  out  of  rifle-range,  told  everything. 

From  behind  the  wall  Brainard's  gray  head  appeared. 
He  rested  a  Winchester  on  the  rock  in  front  of  him, 
and  taking  careful  aim  at  the  retreating  savages,  fired. 
An  Apache  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  backward  on 
the  sand,  his  pony  galloping  on,  riderless.  Two 
Indians,  stooping  from  their  horses,  each  caught  a 
hand  of  their  fallen  comrade,  and  dragged  him 
quickly  out  of  sight. 

Brainard  rose  and  walked  toward  us,  slipping  a 
fresh  shell  into  his  rifle  as  he  came.  "I'm  mighty 
glad  to  see  you,  boys,"  he  said.  "  Thought  you  might 
come.  Hoped  you  would,  anyhow.  Howdy,  Barton  ? " 
He  was  speaking  coolly,  but  with  an  effort,  and  the 
hand  that  held  the  rifle  was  trembling  a  little. 

"  Have  much  trouble  in  stan'in'  'em  off  ? "  asked  the 
sheriff. 

"Middlin'.  That  gang  rounded  us  up  here  this 
mornin'.  I  knowed  this  place,  an'  we  just  made  it. 
Had  two  rifles,  and  Annie  or  th'  ol'  woman'd  load  up 
one  while  I  was  pumpin'  t'other.  Kep'  it  talkin'  kinder 

60 


Specs 


lively,  so  I  s'pose  them  Apaches  had  a  notion  there 
was  several  on  us.  Couldn't  have  held  out  much 
longer,  though.  Mighty  glad  you-all's  come." 

He  had  led  the  way  into  the  little  fort  as  he  was 
speaking,  and  stopped  to  close  the  gap  in  the  wall 
through  which  we  had  passed. 

Mrs.  Brainard  was  standing  inside,  leaning  on  the 
spare  rifle ;  close  by  sat  Annie,  her  face  hidden  in  her 
folded  arms.  The  younger  woman  stole  a  glance  at 
Sam,  but  did  not  speak.  The  elder  was  always  a  person 
of  few  words.  "  Came  jus'  in  time,  boys,"  said  she. 
"  Reckon  you  mus'  be  'bout  ready  for  somethin'  feat." 

Then  she  set  about  preparing  the  meal. 

While  we  were  eating  there  was  considerable  dis 
cussion  as  to  how  we  should  proceed.  Barton  was  for 
returning  at  once  to  the  big  camp  j  but  Brainard  held 
a  different  opinion.  We  could  not  reach  our  destina 
tion,  he  pointed  out,  until  long  after  dark,  when  we 
might  easily  be  ambushed  by  our  late  enemies,  even  if 
we  did  not  have  a  running  fight  with  them  all  the  way 
home.  We  could  stand  them  off  much  better  where 
we  were.  The  debate  waxed  warm. 

We  had  all  forgotten  Specs.  Our  meal  was  nearly 
finished  when  some  one  noticed  that  he  was  absent; 
but  at  the  same  moment  Balaam's  head  appeared 
above  the  breastwork,  and  his  rider,  with  a  sigh,  slid  out 
of  the  saddle  and  shuffled  toward  us.  Annie  looked 
at  him  and  sneered,  then  cast  a  glance  at  Sam  which 
made  him  look  sheepishly  pleased.  Some  of  the  men 
laughed.  Specs  winced,  but  paid  no  further  attention 
to  the  slight,  and  going  up  to  the  sheriff  touched  his 

61 


Sand  and  Cactus 

arm.  Barton  impatiently  threw  off  the  hand,  Once 
more  Specs  grasped  the  sheriff's  arm,  this  time  retaining 
his  hold,  and  pointing  with  the  Wells-Fargo,  held  in  the 
other  hand,  toward  the  mountains,  blue  on  the  north 
ern  horizon.  Every  one  looked  at  the  point  indicated. 
A  haze  of  smoke,  almost  invisible,  was  curling  up  from 
the  desert,  miles  away.  The  arm  changed  its  direction 
and  pointed  to  another  wreath  j  then  to  a  third ;  and 
finally  indicated  a  column  in  the  west,  rising  straight 
in  the  motionless  air,  not  half  a  mile  from  us. 

"I  reckon  that  settles  it,"  said  the  sheriff,  quietly, 
gazing  at  the  nearest  smoke ;  "  we  mus'  have  struck  in 
heah  jus'  at  the  place  they  was  to  gathah,  an'  those 
foah  gangs  that's  signallin'  will  try  an'  take  us  in  on 
theah  way  down  the  creek." 

"  I  guess  that's  right,"  assented  Brainard,  looking  at 
his  wife.  She  shuddered,  then  tried  to  smile. 

Annie  sunk  down  on  the  sand  and  cried  hysterically. 
Sam  made  a  motion  as  though  he  would  go  to  her, 
but  probably  feeling  the  ridicule  that  might  follow, 
thought  better  of  it. 

"No  use  breakin'  youah  necks  wuhkin',"  said  Bar 
ton,  raising  his  voice  a  little.  "  It's  sundown  now,  an' 
we've  got  all  night.  Besides,  theah  ain't  much  to  do." 

He  was  alluding  to  the  fact,  well  known  to  us  all, 
that  Apaches  never  attack  save  at  dusk  or  dawn,  and  it 
was  nearly  dark  now.  Many  of  the  men  lacked  faith, 
I  think,  in  this  custom,  or  feared  that  the  Indians 
might  make  an  exception  in  our  case;  and  we  all 
worked  feverishly,  preparing  for  the  assault  which  the 
morning,  at  the  latest,  would  bring.  Every  chink 

62 


Specs 


through  which  a  bullet  might  be  supposed  to  find  its 
way  was  carefully  stopped,  and  sand  was  banked  up 
on  the  inside  of  the  wall. 

The  work  served  for  a  time  to  occupy  our  minds,  but 
was  finished  even  before  the  light  faded  from  the  level 
edge  of  the  desert  and  the  long  blue  night  closed  in. 

The  fire  was  carefully  extinguished.  One  man  after 
another  went  to  rest,  until  all  had  gone  save  two :  a 
sentinel  sitting  in  the  wagon,  and  Specs,  whose  form  I 
could  see,  from  where  I  lay,  outlined  against  the  sky. 
He  was  leaning  on  the  wall,  looking  out  over  the  plain 
at  a  waning  spark  which  marked  a  camp-fire  of  our 
enemies.  It  was  long  before  I  slept  that  night,  and 
the  last  thing  I  remembered  seeing  was  that  figure  by 
the  wall,  as  motionless  as  the  wall  itself. 

Some  one  shook  me  by  the  shoulder,  and  the  sheriff 
directed  me  to  take  my  place  by  the  wall  •  then  passed 
softly  on  to  rouse  the  others.  It  seemed  but  a  few 
minutes  after  I  had  fallen  asleep,  yet  there  was  a  smell 
of  dawn  in  the  air,  and  as  I  gained  my  post  the  east 
turned  faintly  gray. 

Barton,  kneeling  against  the  wall,  leaned  back, 
glancing  left  and  right  at  the  men  on  each  side  of 
him.  "Theah,  in  that  broken  groun'  yondah,"  he 
whispered,  resuming  his  position.  "  They'll  crawl  out 
mos'  like  now  to— see  ? " 

A  crouching  form  stole  out  from  behind  a  hummock, 
followed  by  many  others.  They  appeared  to  spring 
out  of  the  desert  everywhere,  until  in  an  instant  a 
straggling  line  was  formed,  which  waited  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  moved  toward  us. 

63 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"Pass  the  wuhd  not  to  shoot  till  I  do,"  said  our 
leader,  softly,  to  the  men  next  him. 

The  Indians  were  still  a  hundred  yards  away— too 
far  to  risk  a  rifle-shot  in  that  light— when  Barton's 
order  reached  the  man  on  my  left.  Then  two  flashes 
of  a  shotgun  burnt  holes  in  the  dim  light,  heavy 
charges  of  buckshot  tore  the  sand  a  few  yards  in  front 
of  the  wall,  while  Specs  sank  down  at  its  base,  in  a 
fit  of  terror  greater  than  was  common  even  for  him. 

A  straggling  shot  or  two  followed. 

"  Fiah !  "  shouted  the  sheriff. 

A  rattling  crash  set  the  echoes  flying  down  the 
cliffs,  and  a  blue  smoke-cloud  tumbled  and  rolled  be 
fore  us,  increasing  in  density  as  some  of  the  more 
excitable  of  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  pumped 
their  Winchesters  into  it.  Barton  stopped  this,  for 
ammunition  was  too  precious  to  be  wasted. 

It  seemed  as  though  that  cloud  would  never  lift. 
I  caught  myself  signalling  for  it  to  move  to  one  side, 
as  I  might  to  any  one  who  stood  in  line  with  a  transit 
through  which  I  might  be  looking.  A  few  bullets 
sung  overhead  or  flattened  with  a  splash  against  the 
wall.  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this,  for  I  had 
forgotten,  for  the  moment,  that  the  Indians  could  fire 
back. 

The  smoke  eddied,  hesitated,  and  drifted  aside.  We 
could  see  more  clearly  now  in  the  gathering  light,  but, 
with  the  exception  of  two  prostrate  forms  on  the  sand, 
no  Indians  were  visible.  There  was  little  danger  of 
another  rush.  The  Apache  is  not  given  to  rushing, 
save  when  every  advantage  is  on  his  side,  and  the  sur- 

64 


Specs 


prise  in  this  case  had  failed.  They  knew,  however,  as 
well  as  did  we,  that  our  provisions  would  soon  give 
out,  and  in  the  meantime  they  would  watch. 

When  any  one  exposed  himself,  this  was  made  evi 
dent  by  the  bullet  which  was  invariably  sent  in  search 
of  him. 

Our  only  chance  lay  in  getting  a  message  to  our 
camp.  They  could  send  us  help  from  there,  for,  as 
one  of  the  men  observed,  as  all  the  Indians  in  the 
Territory  were  besieging  us,  the  big  camp  obviously 
must  be  free  from  them.  Anyway,  it  was  our  only 
chance— if  chance  it  was.  On  three  sides  we  were 
encompassed  by  watchful  savages ;  on  the  fourth  rolled 
the  river,  swollen  by  melted  snow  from  the  mountains, 
and  also  commanded  by  the  Apache  rifles. 

In  the  opinion  of  our  men,  the  unpleasant  position 
in  which  we  found  ourselves  was  clearly  due  to  Specs's 
cowardice  in  firing  prematurely,  and  so  giving  warn 
ing  of  what  otherwise  might  have  been  a  decisive  blow 
to  our  enemies.  As  a  vent  to  the  irritation  born  of 
their  suspense,  they  told  him  so,  in  language  and  with 
threats  which  speedily  reduced  him  to  such  a  state 
that  words  had  no  further  effect  upon  him. 

The  question  as  to  whether  or  not  a  messenger  could 
live  to  reach  the  other  camp  had  been  decided  in  the 
negative  many  times  as  the  morning  wore  on.  The 
sun  blazed  down  with  pitiless  fervor,  and  the  horses 
stamped  uneasily  in  their  sheltered  corral;  the  men 
lay  gasping  with  the  heat,  under  anything  standing 
high  enough  to  cast  the  least  shadow  on  the  glaring 
sand. 

65 


Sand  and  Cactus 

No  one  had  spoken  for  some  time,  when  Specs 
walked  quickly  to  the  wagon,  from  which,  after  some 
fumbling,  he  extracted  a  large  brass  kettle.  He  ex 
amined  it  critically. 

"Say,  Pm  kinder  sorry  I  spoke  the  poor  cuss  so 
rough  awhile  back,"  murmured  a  man  lying  near  ine. 
"  He's  locoed  worse'n  ever.  Scare  did  it,  I  reckon." 

It  certainly  did  seem  so,  for  Specs  fitted  the  pot 
carefully  over  his  head,  took  it  off  and  looked  it  over, 
then  tried  it  on  again.  No  one  cared  to  interfere  with 
him.  We  watched  him  with  some  curiosity  as  to  what 
he  intended  doing. 

The  kettle  evidently  wouldn't  do  for  a  helmet,  if 
that  was  his  idea,  for  he  put  it  down.  Then  he  se 
lected  two  large  sticks  of  cottonwood  from  a  pile  of 
drift  that  had  been  collected  for  fuel,  and  laid  them 
parallel  to  each  other,  a  foot  apart.  Inverting  the 
kettle,  he  placed  it  on  top  of  the  sticks,  and  bound 
the  whole  together  with  wire  from  a  broken  hay-bale. 
Lifting  the  contrivance  on  to  one  end,  he  stuck  his 
head  in  the  kettle,  so  that  the  sticks  rested  one  on 
each  shoulder.  Then  he  started  in  a  shambling  run 
for  the  river,  down  the  gully,  twenty  yards  away,  and 
had  reached  it  before  any  one  realized  what  he  was 
trying  to  do.  We  tried  to  stop  him,  but  it  was  too 
late. 

"  Come  back,  you  fool !  "  some  one  shouted.  "  That 
kittle  won't  turn  no  rifle-ball." 

The  water,  sheltered  by  the  jaws  of  the  little  canon, 
made  at  this  point  a  pool  free  from  current.  Wading 
out  chest  deep,  Specs  lowered  his  shoulders  until  the 

66 


Specs 


sticks  floated,  then  struck  out  for  the  swirling  stream 
beyond.  At  least,  we  supposed  he  did,  for  the  brass 
pot  moved  in  that  direction ;  but  we  could  see  nothing 
of  the  man  underneath.  The  armored  cruiser,  which 
had  been  shaded  by  the  rocky  wall,  jerked  its  way 
beyond  the  shadow  into  the  blazing  sunshine,  which 
made  the  bright  metal  glow  like  a  flame. 

There  was  a  yell  from  above  j  the  Indians  had  seen 
it.  Two  or  three  rifle-balls  splashed  in  the  water  close 
by,  and  one  went  fairly  through,  for  we  could  see 
the  rough  edges  made  by  the  bullet  as  it  came  out. 
Another  grooved  the  side  of  the  pot  and  went  sing 
ing  away,  as  a  glanced  bullet  will.  Then  the  current 
caught  the  sticks,  sweeping  them  downward  out  of 
sight. 

The  firing  still  continued,  and  the  sheriff  called  us 
back  to  the  walls.  "  Them  reds  might  go  chasin'  that 
man-o'-wah,  an'  then  we  kin  get  a  couple  of  'em,  as 
like  as  not,"  he  explained.  , 

No  Indian  came  in  sight,  however,  and  the  firing 
died  gradually  away. 

We  could  do  nothing-  now  but  wait,  whatever 
Specs's  fate  might  be ;  but  everything  depended  on 
his  escape,  and  his  chance  of  having  succeeded  was, 
naturally,  our  one  topic  for  discussion.  He  had 
eleven  miles  to  drift  down  the  river,  for  it  would  have 
been  madness  for  him  to  try  and  land  on  the  opposite 
bank  until  he  had  got  beyond  the  stretch  where  the 
Indians  would  dare  follow  him. 

At  least  eight  of  these  miles  would  probably  be 
under  fire,  and  then  he  might  capsize,  drown,  or  a 

67 


Sand  and  Cactus 

hundred  other  things  could  happen.  It  hardly  seemed 
possible  that  he  could  live  through  it.  "  You  cyan't 
tell,  though,"  said  Barton.  "Them  Indians  cyan't 
tell  jus'  wheah  his  haid  is,  undah  that  kettle.  It'll 
lead  'em  to  fiah  too  high,  mos'ly.  Then,  they  cyan't 
tell  when  it's  theah,  foh  Specs'll  prawb'ly  keep  it 
undah  watah  all  he  kin.  They  ain't  no  reason  why 
he  should  steeah  himself  'gains'  nothin'  else.  It  ain't 
a  very  gaudy  show,  maybe  j  but  it's  a  chance." 

With  this  we  had  to  content  ourselves.  Our  hope 
rose  and  fell  and  rose  again  as  the  sun  travelled  slowly 
across  the  sky,  and  we  lay  parching  in  the  little  shade 
which  the  wall  could  afford  us. 

Six  hours  passed  by.  Seven.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Brain- 
ard  rose  and  held  up  her  hand.  "Hear  that?"  she 
said,  after  a  pause.  We  had  heard  nothing,  and  said 
so  j  but  she  made  an  impatient  signal  that  we  should 
be  still,  and  we  listened  once  more.  Two  or  three 
shots,  faint  in  the  distance,  came  over  the  desert,  fol 
lowed  by  the  ghost  of  a  cheer.  Then  the  man  on 
guard  threw  up  his  hat  and  yelled.  A  louder  cheer 
answered  him,  and  in  a  few  moments  more  our  reen- 
forcements  emerged  from  the  dust  they  made,  and 
were  with  us. 

The  Indians  were  gone,  they  said.  Not  a  shot  had 
been  fired,  except  to  let  us  know  that  help  was  at 
hand. 

The  smouldering  fires  passed  on  the  way  showed 
that  those  who  had  camped  there  had  not  long  been 
gone.  They  would  not  return,  probably,  but  it  was 
best  to  take  no  chances,  and  get  as  soon  as  possible 

68 


Specs 

to  the  camp.  There  was  no  disposition  to  linger.  In 
an  amazingly  short  time  the  horses  were  harnessed  or 
saddled,  and  the  wagon  was  creaking  down  the  sandy 
road  with  its  double  escort. 

Now,  in  answer  to  our  many  questions,  we  heard  the 
account  of  Specs's  adventures  as  known  to  the  lower 
camp.  There  was  not  much  to  tell. 

Their  attention  had  been  attracted  by  some  distant 
firing,  and  some  Indians  were  seen,  but  far  out  of 
range.  Then,  around  a  bend,  the  kettle  had  hove  in 
sight. 

"  We  couldn't  make  out  what  'twere,  first  off,"  said 
my  informant.  "'Twas  all  banged  woppy-jawed  by 
them  balls— holes  like  one  er  them  tin  sieves,  an'  then 
three  or  four  holes  knocked  into  one.  We  was  kinder 
uneasy  'bout  you  fellers  up  there,  because  we  heard 
that  the  Brainard  outfit  had  gone  up  Santos  Nirios 
way,  an'  we  didn't  know  where  you'd  got  to  in  chasin' 
it.  When  we  saw  that  brass  olla,  we  thought  maybe 
there  was  a  message  in  it.  It  come  down  an'  grounded 
on  a  bar  in  about  two  foot  of  water. 

"  I  rode  in  an'  roped  it,  an'  dragged  it  out.  I  was 
ashore,  an'  it  was  in  shaller  water,  an'  I  was  snakin' 
it  out  pretty  swift,  when  somebody  yelled  for  me  to 
go  easy. 

"When  I  looked  around,  there  was  Specs's  legs 
a-tailin'  out  behind.  The  bail  of  the  kettle  was  hang- 
in'  down,  and  he'd  got  it  under  his  arms.  He  looked 
as  if  he'd  gone  up  for  sure;  but  there  wasn't  ary 
scratch  on  him,  an'  he  hadn't  taken  in  no  water.  Jus' 
dead  rattled,  I  reckon.  After  a  while  he  jerked  them 

69 


Sand  and  Cactus 

long  arms  and  legs  some,  an'  come  to  a  little.  He 
tried  to  speak  his  piece,  an'  after  a  while  we  savvied. 
He  kinder  coughed  it  out,  shakin'  all  over  between- 
whiles.  We  left  some  women  pumpin'  whiskey  down 
him,  an7  lit  out  up  the  creek. 

"  Say,  who'd  'a'  thought  that  galoot  had  so  much 
sand?  His  stock's  up  jus'  now,  you  betcher  boots. 
Boomin' ! " 

While  the  story  was  being  told  to  me,  several  of 
the  men  had  brought  their  horses  close  alongside  so 
that  they  could  listen,  and  down  the  line  I  could  see 
that  there  were  other  knots  of  our  people,  giving  close 
attention  each  to  its  narrator. 

Public  opinion  had  changed  concerning  Specs  j 
there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  that.  From  good- 
natured  contempt  it  had,  naturally  enough,  swung  to 
the  opposite  extreme.  Specs's  name  was  one  which 
had  to  be  treated  with  respect.  This  was  made  plain 
when  Sam  crawled  into  the  wagon  to  bask  in  the 
smiles  of  his  inamorata,  for  by  common  consent  he 
was  sternly  haled  forth.  Specs  was  not  there,  and  in 
his  absence  no  unfair  advantage  of  him  should  be 
taken. 

The  camp  was  much  changed  since  we  had  left  it, 
a  few  hours  before.  There  were  fewer  people  there, 
and  many  wagon-tracks  led  through  gaps  in  the  sand 
bag  barricade.  Those  who  remained  were,  for  the 
most  part,  making  preparations  to  leave,  for  the  alarm 
was  over. 

By  the  side  of  the  road  taken  by  our  party,  under 
a  thatched  horse-shelter,  stood  Specs,  tying  the  ends 

7o 


Specs 

of  a  bandanna  handkerchief  which  wrapped  a  small 
bundle.  Several  people  were  speaking  to  him  ear 
nestly,  but  his  back  was  toward  them,  and  he  returned 
no  answer.  An  elderly  man  stepped  out  and  hailed 
the  wagon,  which  had  nearly  lumbered  past.  As  it 
stopped,  he  went  to  where  the  girl  was  sitting,  and 
held  out  his  hand  as  though  to  help  her  to  alight. 

"  Thought  maybe  you'd  want  to  thank  him  fer  what 
he  done,"  said  he,  as  she  hesitated. 

Every  one  stood  gravely  regarding  her  as,  accepting 
the  proffered  aid,  she  bounced  to  the  ground. 

Specs  had  turned.  Picking  up  his  bundle,  he  drew 
a  long  breath  and  stepped  quickly  to  where  she  stood. 

"  'Twa'n't  nothing"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  ter  do  it, 
an'  I  done  it."  He  stopped  for  a  moment,  then  added, 
"  I  done  it  fer  you." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  before  she  could  take 
it,  drew  it  back,  turned,  and  walked  rapidly  away, 
westward,  down  the  old  government  trail.  No  one 
spoke  or  tried  to  stop  him.  His  road  led  over  a  little 
rise,  and  as  he  reached  the  top,  his  awkward  figure 
stood  in  black  relief  against  the  setting  sun,  then 
dropped,  step  by  step,  out  of  sight  on  the  other  side. 

Drawing  herself  up,  the  girl  turned  to  Sam.  "  He 
never  did  have  no  manners,"  she  said. 


71 


ROUGE-ET-NOIR 


ROUGE-ET-NOIR 


IN  the  shade  of  the  wickiup  on  the  edge  of  the  little 
plateau  sat  Wet  Dog,  gazing  absently  over  the 
green  valley  which  lay  stretched  at  his  feet.  Not 
at  all  a  good  place  for  a  camp,  thought  the  patient 
squaws  who  had  built  it;  for  it  was  only  a  little, 
gravelly  shelf  on  the  parched  gray  mountain,  which 
allowed  the  sun  to  beat  full  upon  it  while  keeping  off 
what  breezes  there  were.  Then,  the  water  must  be 
carried  all  the  way  from  the  river,  a  hundred  yards  off 
horizontally,  and  as  many  feet  below.  But  what  did 
Wet  Dog  care  for  that  ?  He  did  not  have  to  "  pack  " 
it ;  and,  besides,  there  wasn't  much  to  bring,  for  they 
used  it  only  to  boil  things  in.  So  he  had  decreed  that 
there  the  camp  should  be ;  and  Wet  Dog's  word  was 
law.  He  had  reasons  of  his  own— liked  the  view,  he 
said.  So  the  squaws  had  made  many  weary  journeys 
up  the  steep  incline,  bearing  from  the  flat  below  arm- 
fuls  of  arrow-weed,  which  they  wove  into  hurdles, 
securing  them,  edge  to  edge,  on  three  sides  of  a 
square.  Their  lord  had  been  impatient  during  this 
process,  for  the  sun  was  hot ;  and  he  had  hurried  them 

75 


Sand  and  Cactus 

with  grunts,  together  with  sundry  pokes.  When  the 
walls  were  up  he  squatted  contentedly  in  their  shadow, 
and,  leaving  his  womankind  to  put  on  the  roof  more 
at  their  leisure,  gave  himself  up  to  a  pleasant  reverie. 

A  happy  retrospect  it  was,  for  things  had  prospered 
with  Wet  Dog.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  sent  to  an 
Indian  school  under  the  control  of  the  federal  gov 
ernment,  and  situated  in  the  East,  far  away  from  all 
degrading  aboriginal  influences.  This  is  why  Wet 
Dog  ran  away  from  it.  But  he  learned  much  while 
there— learned  to  speak  English,  and  to  read  a  little, 
together  with  many  other  things  appertaining  to  the 
lore  of  the  white  man,  but  which  are  not  included  in 
the  curriculum  of  that  excellent  governmental  institu 
tion.  On  his  return  to  the  reservation,  he  had  sold 
skins  and  baskets  to  the  wives  of  the  officers  quartered 
there,  and  thereby  obtained  silver  coins.  This  money 
he  had  invested  in  rifle-cartridges,  which  he  bartered 
with  his  brethren  for  the  blankets  served  out  to  them 
by  a  paternal  government.  These  he  sold  at  a  profit. 
So  his  wealth  had  grown,  and  he  had  become  a  sub- 
chief  of  his  tribe  and  the  proprietor  of  many  ponies. 
One  reverse  he  had  met  with,  to  be  sure ;  but  he  was 
not  cast  down,  and  turned  it  to  his  own  advantage. 

It  was  in  this  way.  Eacing,  especially  with  horses, 
has  always  been  a  favorite  sport  with  the  Western 
Indian.  The  love  of  it  was  strong  with  Wet  Dog, 
and  so  was  the  sentiment  of  tribal  honor.  When,  for 
the  great  semiannual  races,  the  neighboring  tribe  of 
Papagos  had  entered  their  famous  little  cream-colored 
mare,  two  of  Wet  Dog's  ponies,  trained  as  carefully  as 

76 


Rouge-et-Noir 


his  nature  and  knowledge  permitted,  ran  against  her, 
heavily  backed.  The  mare  added  another  victory  to 
her  unbroken  score,  and  the  Apaches  lost  heavily  in 
blankets,  ponies,  and  other  valuable  things.  To  lose 
them  was  bad  enough,  but  that  they  should  have  gone 
to  increase  the  wealth  of  the  Papagos,  the  natural 
prey  of  the  Apaches,  a  tribe  that  never  fought  nor 
killed  any  one,  and  so  was  not  esteemed  even  by  the 
government  as  worthy  of  rations,  that  was  addicted 
to  the  wearing  of  hats,  cultivation  of  the  soil,  and 
other  unnatural  and  degrading  practices,  was  unbear 
able  $  and  even  now  Wet  Dog  grew  indignant  at  the 
thought. 

But  Wet  Dog  was  a  man  of  resource,  and  on  the 
evening  of  his  defeat,  having  disinterred  from  under 
the  floor  of  his  residence  the  Springfield  rifle  which 
he  had  acquired  from  a  deserter,  and  hidden,  together 
with  a  bag  containing  sundry  dollars  and  halves,  he 
rounded  up  all  his  ponies— a  goodly  bunch— and  de 
parted  eastward.  At  Albuquerque  he  converted  his 
horses  into  gold,  which  only  an  educated  Indian  will 
recognize  as  money,  and  boarded  an  east-bound 
freight-train.  For  a  while  his  former  haunts  knew 
him  not;  but  when  the  time  for  the  next  race- 
meeting  was  nearly  arrived,  he  returned,  and  on 
horseback. 

He  said  nothing  concerning  his  new  mount,  but 
nevertheless  the  tribe  turned  out  in  a  body  to  inspect 
it.  They  knew  the  small,  lean  head  with  its  pointed 
ears  and  long,  thin  neck,  for  the  better  run  of  their 
own  cow-hocked  ponies  had  these j  but  the  well-ribbed 

77 


Sand  and  Cactus 

barrel,  powerful  quarters,  and  thin,  flat  legs  appealed 
to  them  with  all  the  force  of  a  novelty,  and  they  mar 
velled  greatly.  Even  the  old  Chief  of  the  Three 
Sections  grunted  his  approval,  and  called  a  council  for 
that  night,  where  a  tax  was  voted  by  acclamation  to 
buy  barley  for  the  new-comer,  and  hay  •  for  grass  he 
must  not  eat. 

Then,  the  next  day,  Wet  Dog  bought  a  buggy- whip 
at  the  post  trader's,  which  he  took,  together  with  his 
eldest  son  and  the  horse,  to  a  secluded  valley  near 
by,  and  the  training  commenced.  As  the  animal 
stood  with  the  boy  on  his  back,  Wet  Dog  would  fire 
a  pistol  held  in  one  hand,  with  the  other  at  the 
same  time  bringing  the  whip  sharply  across  the  fore 
legs  of  the  horse,  which  would  rear  and  whirl ;  another 
cut  over  the  haunches,  and  he  would  spring  away  in 
the  direction  opposite  that  in  which  he  had  been  fac 
ing.  Soon  the  whip  became  unnecessary,  for  he  would 
turn  and  start  at  the  sound  of  the  shot,  and  the  train 
ing  was  completed. 

Then  the  great  race-day,  when  Papagos  and  Apaches 
were  gathered  on  opposite  sides  of  the  short,  straight 
course,  mingling  only  in  the  betting-place,  where  they 
staked  their  possessions  on  the  horses  which  carried 
the  glory  of  the  tribe,  as  well  as  nearly  all  its  worldly 
goods.  With  what  attention  they  watched  the  racers 
as  they  walked  toward  the  starting-point !  Not  that 
Wet  Dog  showed  any  interest  in  the  affair— that  was 
proper  only  for  squaws  and  Papagos  and  such  things. 
But  he  felt  it.  It  is  a  foolish  practice,  he  thought,  to 
post  the  horses  with  their  tails  to  the  finish.  How 

78 


Rouge-et-Noir 


quickly  that  mare  turned !  Much  more  readily  than 
Wet  Dog's  horse.  But  that  was  the  inherited  instinct 
of  the  cow-pony.  No  training  could  equal  that,  and, 
truly,  the  mare  ran  fast.  The  Papagos  were  howling 
with  joy.  But  soon  their  voices  lowered,  for  the  long 
stride  of  the  thoroughbred  was  telling.  The  horse 
closed  up ;  then  his  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders  ap 
peared  in  the  lead,  and  the  Apache  women  broke  into 
delirious  shrieks  as  he  won,  hard  held,  by  a  length. 
The  tribe  was  embarrassed  with  riches.  Rifles  and 
blankets  were  plenty,  and  the  cartridges,  hitherto 
treasured,  were  now  used  to  shoot  rabbits.  To  Wet 
Dog  this  was  due,  so  his  people  honored  him.  His 
horses  were  three  where  there  had  before  been  one, 
and  the  bunch  grew  larger  with  each  successive  race, 
until  no  Indian  would  bet  against  this  strange  horse 
from  the  East.  So  he  had  come  to  Cactus  City,  where 
the  white  men  were  to  hold  a  fiesta.  There  were  to 
be  races,  and  therefore  wealth  would  result  to  him  j  to 
his  kin  as  well. 

Far  below  him  the  brown  Gila  crawled  between  its 
weed-fringed  banks,  dividing  the  two  strips  of  rich 
pasture-land,  the  nearer  one  of  which  was  dotted  with 
the  awkwardly  moving  forms  of  hobbled  ponies.  On 
a  little  rise,  shaded  by  a  cottonwood-tree,  the  racer 
was  standing,  being  rubbed  down  with  bunches  of 
grass  by  two  of  Wet  Dog's  squaws.  Beyond  the  other 
strip  of  pasture  was  a  spur  of  the  opposite  mesa, 
lower  and  broader  than  the  one  on  which  Wet  Dog's 
camp  was  placed,  and  there  the  two  canvas  saloons 
and  the  store  which  constituted  Cactus  City  showed 

79 


Sand  and  Cactus 

glaringly  white  against  the  black  basalt  cliff  as  the 
sun  fell  full  on  their  gable-ends. 

Three  men  came  out  of  the  larger  saloon,  the 
Triangle,  and,  mounting  their  horses,  rode  away  down 
the  river.  Wet  Dog  knew  them  all.  "  Daddy  Gab," 
the  big  one,  was  the  proprietor  of  the  Triangle.  He 
had  much  money,  which  he  would  bet,  and  which,  there 
fore,  would  accrue  to  Wet  Dog.  Another  was  Greaser 
Pete,  who  kept  the  Black  Cat,  next  door.  He  also 
had  money.  But  the  chief  reflected  sadly  that  with 
him  it  was  not  well  for  an  Indian  to  have  dealings. 
He  was  not  of  a  trustful  nature,  and  his  suspicions  and 
six-shooter  would  generally  be  aroused  together.  The 
third  was  a  cow-boy— a  thing  which  Wet  Dog  hated,  as 
an  Apache  should.  The  three  rounded  a  point  of  cliff, 
and  passed  at  once  from  Wet  Dog's  sight  and  mind ; 
for  his  heart  was  at  the  place  a  little  up  the  river, 
where  the  course  of  the  morrow  was  being  laid  out. 

A  few  miles  below,  another  horseman  was  riding  up 
the  river  trail.  The  sun  had  passed  the  meridian,  and 
the  high  cliff  threw  a  grateful  shade  over  the  road 
which  ran,  at  this  point,  half-way  up  its  face :  a  nar 
row  shadow,  for  it  was  barely  past  noon— a  shadow 
just  broad  enough  to  cover  the  slender  path,  making 
it  appear  almost  in  twilight  when  contrasted  with  the 
brilliant  sunlight  which  lighted  up  the  jagged  masses 
of  black  rock  littering  the  steep  incline  that  broke 
down  from  its  outer  edge.  The  day  was  burning  hot, 
even  for  Arizona.  The  horseman  who  moved  slowly 
up  the  road  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  heat— appeared 
rather  to  enjoy  it.  He  would  have  attracted  much 

80 


Rouge-et-Noir 


attention  had  there  been  any  one  there  to  look  at  him ; 
for  he  was  a  negro,  short  of  stature  and  thin  of  limb, 
his  small,  perfectly  round  body  surmounted  by  a  dis 
proportionately  large  head,  displaying  a  moon-face  of 
a -blackness  seldom  seen.  Wearing  a  tall,  well-worn 
silk  hat,  and  clothed  in  a  rusty  black  suit  of  clerical 
cut,  the  whole  figure  appeared  like  a  travelling  sil 
houette,  the  monotone  being  still  further  carried  out 
by  the  black  army-saddle  and  the  mare  on  which  it 
rested.  She  undoubtedly  would  have  drawn  a  horse 
man's  attention,  even  from  her  rider.  She  was  tall,  in 
that  land  of  ponies,  and  every  line  of  her  lithe  body 
gave  evidence  of  generations  of  breeding.  That  she 
had  been  long  on  the  road  was  shown  by  her  dusty 
coat,  but  she  still  snatched  at  her  bit  and  fretted  im 
patiently  at  the  slow  pace  set  for  her  by  a  tiny  pack- 
laden  burro  that  plodded  along  in  front.  Every 
waggle  of  the  donkey's  enormous  ears  seemed  to  ex 
press  his  unalterable  determination  to  go  no  faster,  in 
spite  of  the  prods  and  blows  administered  in  measured 
cadence  with  a  long  stick  by  his  master,  who  thus 
punctuated  his  rendering  of  a  revival  hymn,  which 
he  would  interrupt  from  time  to  time  in  order  to 
assail  the  unfortunate  animal  with  epithets  the  most 
abusive  his  Virginia  dialect  could  shape. 

The  trail  made  a  turn  and  began  to  descend  to  the 
flat.  At  its  foot  the  mesa  divided,  opening  into  a  box 
canon  which  extended  far  into  the  table-land.  At  its 
mouth,  sitting  on  their  horses,  and  evidently  waiting 
for  some  one,  were  the  three  men  from  Cactus  City. 
The  song  ended  in  a  prolonged  whoop,  at  which  the 

81 


Sand  and  Cactus 

largest  of  the  trio  waved  his  hand ;  then,  turning,  he 
rode  into  the  caiion,  followed  by  his  companions. 
The  incline  was  steep.  The  donkey  broke  into  a  sham 
bling  trot  as  the  easiest  method  of  gaining  the  bottom, 
but  was  left  to  his  own  devices,  as  the  mare  was  given 
her  head,  and  in  a  hand-gallop  she  followed  the  other 
horses.  The  entrance  was  screened  by  a  natural 
hedge  of  gnarled  mesquit,  and  around  the  edge  of 
this  the  negro  rode,  the  flying  tails  of  his  long  coat 
giving  his  mount  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a 
shadow  of  Pegasus  bearing  a  poet  of  more  modern 
build  than  those  who  usually  patronized  that  classic 
beast.  The  men  had  dismounted,  and  stood  in  a  row 
as  he  came  up,  looking  at  him  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Are  you  the  man  we  want  ? "  asked  one,  a  small 
man  with  a  handsome,  hard  face. 

"  Yassah,"  replied  the  gentleman  addressed.  "  Clay 
Randolph,  suh,  the  Reverend  Clay  Randolph.  Would 
?a'  been  soonah  but  foh  Balaam.  He  got  contrairy. 
Dey  is  dat-a-way,  mos'ly.  Heah  he  comes  now,  lak 
he's  got  all  nex'  week.  Ain't  got  no  ambition,  nohow." 

"Never  mind  that  now,"  said  one  of  the  others. 
"  'Twas  I  that  sent  f er  you.  Gabriel,  me  nem  is,  from 
the  Triangle,  above.  It's  the  boss  of  a  gang  of 
Apaches  that's  got  a  horse  that's  fair  cleaned  out  the 
country,  and  fer  the  good  of  his  soul  he  must  be  skun. 
Bad.  Can  ye  do  it,  d'ye  think  ? " 

"Kin  she  do  it?  Dat  mah'll  lick  dis  Ter'tory. 
Brought  her  f'um  de  ol'  place,  an'  I'se  gwine  ride  her 
myself.  Ain't  rid  no  races  sence  I  begun  preachin', 
but  I  ain'  f o'got  de  way." 

82 


Rouge-et-Noir 


He  seemed  particularly  un jockey-like  as  he  stood, 
hat  in  hand,  rubbing  the  top  of  his  polished,  bald 
head  with  a  big  red  bandanna  handkerchief;  and  the 
others  looked  doubtful,  while  the  Reverend  Randolph 
shuffled  uneasily,  rubbing  his  head  harder  than  ever 
in  his  embarrassment. 

"Ye're  sure,  then?"  said  Gabriel,  at  last.  "Sure 
you'd  best  be,  f er  it's  our  money  as  well  as  yer  carcass 
the  mare'll  carry." 

"Yassah,  jes'  so,"  replied  the  negro,  relieved.  "I 
don'  ride  races  no  mo',  an'  I  don'  bet.  Considah  it 
inconsistant  wiv  my  puhfession.  But  foh  de  present 
occasion,  suh,  I'd  be  glad  ef  you  could  get  a  bet  wiv 
dat  Indian,  an'  put  dis  on  foh  me," — taking,  as  he 
spoke,  a  heavy  buckskin  bag  from  his  pocket.  "  Don' 
bet  wiv  no  white  man.  Dat's  sinful.  But  an  Indian's 
one  of  de  los'  tribes,  an'  mus'  be  luhned  not  to  steer 
heself  'gains'  de  gospel." 

Gabriel  slapped  him  on  the  back,  laughing  and 
agreeing  volubly;  but  his  companion  only  smiled. 
He  was  a  taciturn  man.  "  We'd  better  go,  Gabe,"  he 
said. 

"Faith,  we  had,"  responded  the  other.  "They 
might  miss  us.  Ye'll  stop  here,  yer  rev'rince,  fer 
now.  It  is  best  the  mare  should  not  be  seen.  After 
dark,  Sam,  here,  will  show  you  the  way.  So  long." 

He  swung  himself  on  his  horse,  and  was  about  to 
ride  away  when  the  darky  stopped  him. 

"'Scuse  me,  suh,  one  moment,"  he  said.  "Should 
you  have  occasion  to  speak  of  me  in  public,  kin'ly  call 
me  Jones,  suh,  John  Jones,  widout  no  Reveren'.  It's 

83 


Sand  and  Cactus 

on  account  of  de  oP  wo— of  Mrs.  Randolph,  suh. 
Women  don'  understan'  dese  affaiahs,  an;  it's  as  well 
she  shouldn'  know  erbout  it.  Good  day,  suh." 

The  morning  of  the  fiesta  broke  clear  and  hot,  as  is 
the  habit  of  mornings  in  that  country,  and  that  por 
tion  of  Cactus  City  that  had  been  in  bed  rose  with  the 
dawn  to  finish  the  preparations.  The  Triangle  and 
the  Black  Cat  were  swept  and  garnished  j  the  quarters 
of  beef  which  had  been  slowly  roasting  over  the  great 
trenches  of  mesquit  coals  were  turned  for  the  last 
time  by  the  smoke-grimed  cooks,  who  then  gave  place 
to  those  who  came  to  relieve  them,  and,  after  refresh 
ing  themselves  at  the  Triangle  bar,  went  off  to  get 
some  needed  sleep  before  arraying  their  persons  for 
the  festivities. 

Soon  the  spectators  began  to  arrive.  On  horseback 
and  on  foot,  from  far  up  and  down  the  river,  they 
came.  Great  four-  or  six-horse  wagons  came  creaking 
in  along  the  sandy  road,  some  of  them  containing 
women,  the  wives  or  daughters  of  the  ranchers. 
Already  the  men  had  crowded  to  suffocation  the  big 
saloons,  where  extra  hands  were  busily  employed  in 
shoving  the  black  bottles  and  thick-bottomed  glasses 
along  the  bar,  from  one  to  another  of  the  crowd  of 
customers  who  rested  their  elbows  on  it,  disturb 
ing  the  swarms  of  flies  which  were  feasting  on  the 
smears  made  by  the  wet  bottoms  of  the  overfilled 
tumblers. 

Outside,  knots  of  men  stood  about,  talking  or  un- 
cinching  their  saddles.  Many  cow-boys  there  were, 
with  their  leather  leggings  and  big,  belled  spurs; 

84 


Rouge-et-Noir 


vaqueros,  dressed  in  tight-fitting  trousers  and  short 
jackets  of  copper  red,  their  broad-brimmed,  peaked- 
crowned  sombreros  heavy  with  a  year's  wages  in 
silver.  Prospectors,  hoboes,  ranchers,  and  all  classes 
that  go  to  make  up  the  sum  of  frontier  humanity, 
were  represented— all  except  the  saloon  man.  He 
was  busy  inside. 

The  sports  began.  Chicken-pulling,  shooting,  and 
rough-riding  followed  one  another,  but  few  took  much 
interest  in  them.  Even  the  roping-match,  generally 
the  principal  event  in  these  fiestas,  attracted  but  little 
attention.  Every  one  was  waiting  for  the  race.  The 
Apache  wonder  was  well  known,  and  the  possibilities 
of  a  dark  winner  had  been  talked  of  far  and  near. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  settlement  a  course 
had  been  laid  out.  Though  still  short,  it  was  longer 
than  those  generally  used  in  that  country,  and  was  a 
curved  one  instead  of  the  usual  straightaway,  in  order 
that  those  who  chose  might  ride  down  the  chord  of  the 
arc  and  thus  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  something 
of  the  whole  race.  Close  by  the  ranging-poles  which 
showed  where  the  finish  was  to  be,  a  large  tent  had 
been  pitched,  and  around  this  stood  a  few  white  men ; 
but  the  vast  majority  of  the  crowd  which  swarmed  the 
course  from  end  to  end  were  Indians— Indians  of  all 
degrees  and  from  many  tribes.  Moquis,  Maricopas, 
and  Yavapais  mingled  freely  with  the  Papagos,  who 
wore  the  hats  which  were  the  scorn  of  their  warlike 
neighbors,  and  talked  together  in  garrulous  groups. 
Among  them  stalked  the  Apaches,  alone  in  the  crowd, 
while  the  squaws,  sitting  in  groups  by  themselves, 

85 


Sand  and  Cactus 

showed  their  budding  civilization  by  criticising  their 
sisters  of  the  other  clans. 

From  the  clearing  in  the  thicket  near  the  start, 
where  his  horse  had  been  taken,  rode  Wet  Dog,  study 
ing  the  course  for  the  hundredth  time.  This  was  his 
first  race  against  the  whites,  and  he  meant  to  take 
no  unnecessary  chances,  though,  in  truth,  everything 
seemed  going  his  way  j  for  the  course  was  a  long  one, 
and  did  not  his  horse  show  to  the  best  advantage 
where  his  long  stride  could  tell?  Further,  it  had 
been  asked  of  Wet  Dog  as  a  favor  that  the  horses 
should  stand  facing  the  finish  instead  of  pointing  the 
other  way  and  having  to  turn  at  the  start,  as  the  cus 
tom  was ;  and  as  a  favor  he  had  granted  it,  but  he 
would  rather  have  given  his  second-best  horse— the 
one  he  was  riding— than  not  to  have  had  it  so.  Then, 
the  night  before,  a  panther  had  sprung  on  a  colt,  and 
had  been  shot  by  one  of  Wet  Dog's  sons ;  there  could 
be  no  more  fortunate  omen  than  this,  as  every  one 
knows.  The  horse  of  the  white  man  must  be  in  that 
tent.  But  why  thus  house  the  beast  I  he  wondered,  and 
sent  his  second  son  to  find  out ;  and  the  boy  wriggled 
through  the  undergrowth  in  a  manner  really  creditable 
to  his  training,  but  before  he  could  raise  the  canvas  to 
look  inside,  the  heavy  lash  of  a  stock-whip  had  fallen 
across  his  back,  raising  a  purple  welt  on  the  bronze 
skin.  Still,  it  did  not  matter. 

From  the  plaza  of  Cactus  City,  with  a  whoop,  came 
a  mob  of  horsemen,  followed  by  men  and  women  on 
foot,  for  the  other  sports  were  now  ended.  The  after 
noon  was  wearing  on.  The  first  races  were  quickly 

86 


Rouge-et-Noir 

run;  then  Indians  and  whites  gathered  about  an 
open  spot  opposite  the  tent  near  the  finish,  forming 
a  living  ring  around  it.  Into  the  middle  of  this  space 
strode  Wet  Dog,  followed  by  a  squaw  leading  three 
ponies,  their  manes  and  tails  gay  with  feathers. 

At  her  lord's  feet  she  drove  a  picket-pin,  and 
securing  the  neck-ropes  to  it,  retired.  This  signified 
that  they  were  offered  in  wager,  and  a  tall  Papago 
placed  a  saddle  by  the  pin ;  but  Wet  Dog  regarded  it 
scornfully.  A  bit  was  added,  then  some  rifle-car 
tridges  ;  and  the  Apache  bowed  in  token  of  acceptance, 
moving  away,  and  signalling  with  his  hand  for  more 
horses.  Other  ventures  were  offered,  and  soon  the 
betting  became  fast  and  heavy,  even  white  men  stak 
ing  silver  against  the  ponies  or  Navajo  blankets ;  and 
all  without  a  word,  save  when  the  whites  bet  among 
themselves. 

When  nearly  all  the  movable  property  of  those 
present  had  been  wagered,  they  turned  to  the  course, 
where  the  hope  of  the  Apaches,  his  chestnut  coat  shin 
ing  in  the  sun,  was  slowly  led  up  and  down.  He  wore 
a  bridle  instead  of  the  single  rein  tied  around  the 
under  jaw  that  Indians  generally  affect.  Instead  of 
a  saddle  a  piece  of  cowhide  rope  was  loosely  tied  around 
his  body,  just  behind  the  withers.  Wet  Dog's  son,  his 
entire  costume  consisting  of  a  very  small  breech-cloth 
and  a  two-tailed  whip,  sprang  on  to  the  horse's  back 
and  thrust  his  knees  under  the  cowhide  rope.  Both 
were  then  ready,  and  cantered  toward  the  starting- 
point,  followed  by  an  admiring  throng. 

Wet  Dog  sat  on  his  horse  near  the  tent.     Its  flap  was 

87 


Sand  and  Cactus 

raised,  and  the  black  mare  led  forth  by  her  reverend 
jockey.  That  morning  Wet  Dog  had  seen  Clay  Ran 
dolph,  but  now  what  a  change !  As  he  noted  the 
breeches,  tops,  and  silk  jacket,  the  memory  of  other 
races,  seen  long  ago,  flashed  across  the  chiefs  mind. 
He  observed  that  the  faded  purple-and-yellow  blouse 
was  wofully  tight  for  its  wearer,  and  had  been  clum 
sily  let  out  at  the  waist,  so  that  the  weight  would  be 
to  his  disadvantage ;  but  still  the  course  was  not  long, 
and  Wet  Dog  was  harassed  with  doubts :  for  this  cos 
tume  was  of  the  fashion  of  the  East,  where  they  know 
how.  Many  horsemen  accompanied  the  stranger  as  he 
walked  to  the  start.  The  Apache  joined  them,  but 
stopped  two  thirds  of  the  way  up  the  course  and  waited 
for  the  starting  shot.  Many  things  are  thus  started 
in  Arizona.  Some  are  ended  so.  At  length  it  came, 
followed  by  a  yell  and  the  thunder  of  galloping  hoofs, 
as  the  spectators  pelted  along  the  shorter  path. 

Wet  Dog  turned  and  cantered  slowly  back,  looking 
over  his  shoulder.  As  the  horses  flashed  into  view  his 
hand  twitched  once,  for  he  could  see  that  the  chestnut 
was  leading.  Wet  Dog's  son,  on  the  racer's  back, 
gripping  from  thigh  to  ankle-joint,  leaned  forward 
with  reins  flying  slack,  and,  urged  by  the  sting  of  the 
double-lashed  quirt,  his  mount  was  doing  its  utmost. 
Close  behind  strode  the  black  mare,  her  chin  on  her 
breast,  her  rider  sitting  well  back  in  the  tiny  saddle, 
which  he  more  than  filled.  Could  it  be  that  the  black 
was  gaining?  Yes,  she  was— gaining  even  with  the 
jockey's  weight  on  her  bit ;  and  Wet  Dog  pushed  his 
pony  into  a  run  as  the  racers  flew  past.  He  could 

88 


Rouge-et-Noir 

just  see  the  poles  of  the  finish  now,  with  their  back 
ground  of  faces,  red,  white,  and  yellow.  As  they 
neared  the  end,  the  horses  came  between  him  and  the 
finish,  and  the  dust  screened  them  from  his  sight. 
The  shouts  which  rang  over  the  flat  told  him  that  the 
race  was  over,  and  that  he  had  lost  j  so,  without  draw 
ing  rein,  he  turned  away  from  the  course  and,  crossing 
the  river,  made  his  way  to  the  wickiup  on  the  shelf  of 
the  mesa,  and  sat  down  in  its  shade,  his  head  resting 
on  his  folded  arms. 

The  squaws  and  his  sons  came,  but  departed ;  it  was 
not  well  to  disturb  him  then.  The  racer  was  fed  and 
cared  for,  and  the  remaining  ponies  were  hobbled  and 
turned  out  to  graze.  Food  was  cooked,  and  the  young 
est  squaw,  taking  her  lord's  portion,  crept  timidly  up 
to  where  he  sat.  His  head  was  raised  now,  and  as 
cheerful  an  expression  as  his  dignity  would  allow 
played  over  his  features.  He  ate  the  food,  and  then 
called  his  sons,  who  sat  at  his  feet  as  he  talked  to  them 
far  into  the  night. 

Looking  across  the  river,  he  could  see  that  Cactus 
City  was  rejoicing.  The  canvas  walls  of  the  saloons, 
lighted  from  within,  the  camp-fires  of  the  Indians  and 
Mexicans,  and  the  yells  of  the  revellers,  vaguely  re 
called  to  his  mind  the  transparencies  and  torches  of  a 
political  parade  and  the  shouting  crowds  on  the  side 
walks  where  Wet  Dog  had  stood  in  his  school-days, 
years  before. 

The  canvas  houses  continued  their  pearl-like  glow ; 
but  one  by  one  the  fires  faded  to  dull-red  spots  in  the 
darkness,  and  the  shouts  grew  fainter  and  finally 

89 


Sand  and  Cactus 

ceased.  Then,  followed  by  their  sire,  the  two  boys 
departed  into  the  gloom  of  the  cliff-shadowed  flat  of 
the  river.  The  crescent  of  the  new  moon  climbed 
over  the  mesa  opposite,  filtering  a  faint  light  on  the 
yellow  sands  below. 

At  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  a  hole  a  yard  or  so  in 
diameter  led  into  a  fissure  in  the  rock.  In  front  of 
this  hole,  and  facing  it,  knelt  Wet  Dog.  On  a  piece 
of  board  before  him  lay  the  severed  legs  of  the  panther 
shot  the  night  before,  and  he  was  taking  them,  one 
after  the  other,  and  printing  their  feet  in  the  sand, 
then,  shuffling  backward,  carefully  obliterating,  with 
the  flat  side  of  the  board,  the  marks  of  his  knees,  and 
repeating  the  operation  until  the  footprints  reached 
the  thick  weeds  which  grew  by  the  river.  Then  he 
gathered  up  his  properties  and  vanished. 

It  was  just  at  daybreak,  and  Cactus  City  was  in  its 
soundest  sleep.  The  tents  showed  a  ghastly  gray  in 
the  gathering  light,  and  the  red  eyes  of  the  camp-fires 
had  long  since  closed,  when  the  black  figures  of  men 
and  horses  silently  crossed  the  ford.  The  camp  of 
Wet  Dog  and  his  friends  was  breaking.  They  waited 
awhile  until  the  squaws  joined  them,  and  all  moved 
westward  along  the  trail,  save  a  few  who,  detaching 
themselves,  rode  toward  the  cliff.  This  was  just  the 
hour  invariably  chosen  by  the  Apaches  for  their  at 
tacks,  so  when  a  chorus  of  shrill  yells  rent  the  air,  to 
an  accompaniment  of  dropping  rifle-shots,  Cactus  City 
was  roused  in  a  moment.  Men  started  from  their 
blankets  around  the  ashes  of  their  dead  fires,  clutch 
ing  hastily  snatched  weapons ;  they  came  pouring  from 

9° 


Rouge-et-Noir 


the  saloons  and  corrals,  only  to  see  an  excited  group 
of  Indians  pointing  from  the  ground  to  the  hole  in 
the  cliff,  and  talking  together  in  apparent  alarm 
Evidently  no  attack  was  intended,  so  they  left  the 
rocks  and  knolls  behind  which  they  had  sought 
shelter  from  the  expected  fire,  and  joining  the  ab 
sorbed  group  of  aborigines,  inquired  as  to  the  cause  of 
the  excitement.  It  was  an  animal,  they  were  told, 
something  like  a  panther,  but  larger— much  larger— 
and  with  long  legs,  so  that  it  moved  with  exceeding 
swiftness.  It  had  struck  down  a  squaw  and  killed  her. 
When  they  had  fired,  it  had  not  minded  the  shots,  but 
had  struck  down  another  squaw,  then  carried  its  first 
victim  away  with  it.  They  had  followed  the  tracks 
thus  far,  but  now  they  were  afraid  to  go  farther. 
They,  the  Apaches,  were  afraid.  The  beast  was  not 
natural. 

Greaser  Pete  had  been  among  the  first  to  arrive,  and 
was  now  examining  the  tracks  critically.  "What's 
wrong  with  you  fools,  anyway?"  he  asked.  " Leery 
of  a  puma— say?" 

It  was  not  a  puma,  they  insisted.  Somewhat  like 
one,  to  be  sure,  but  bigger  and  more  fierce,  behaving 
in  such  a  manner  that  their  hearts  became  as  the  heart 
of  a  squaw.  If  any  one  disbelieved,  there  was  the  den : 
it  was  at  home ;  and  if  it  was  a  panther  it  might  be 
shot.  But  no  Indian  would  try  it. 

Then  spake  Wet  Dog.  The  white  men  said  that 
this  was  a  puma.  Very  good.  He,  Wet  Dog,  said  that 
it  was  not.  If  any  man  was  foolish  enough  to  prove 
what  it  was,  he,  Wet  Dog,  would  back  his  opinion 

91 


Sand  and  Cactus 

with  a  wager.  He  waved  his  hand,  and  one  of  the 
squaws  led  out  the  Apache  racer,  dropping  the  picket- 
pin  into  the  ground  and  pressing  it  home  with  her 
substantial  foot. 

Men  looked  askance  at  this.  There  must  be  a  trick 
somewhere— the  stakes  were  too  high.  Wet  Dog,  as 
they  well  knew,  valued  this  horse  more  than  the  whole 
of  his  other  possessions,  squaws  and  all.  It  was  a 
temptation,  however,  and  several  hesitated,  until,  at 
last,  the  Reverend  Randolph  stepped  out  of  the  shadow, 
placing  at  the  chief's  feet  a  canvas  shot-bag,  partially 
filled. 

"  Oar's  de  dust/'  he  observed.     "  Does  she  go  ? " 

Wet  Dog  stooped  and  lifted  the  bag.  It  weighed 
well,  and  he  was  glad,  for  of  all  men  he  would  rather 
despoil  this  one ;  and  he  signified  that  the  wager  held. 

But  who  was  to  carry  out  its  terms?  Not  the 
Indians,  for  they  had  specifically  declined  doing  so  j 
and  the  reverend  jockey  seemed  to  have  little  inclina 
tion  in  that  direction ;  so  there  was  a  pause  of  some 
seconds,  broken  by  Pete. 

"  Stand  by  to  help,  boys,  if  I  don't  kill,"  he  said ; 
and,  turning,  he  walked  toward  the  cave. 

The  Indians  drew  away,  except  the  squaw,  who  still 
stood  by  the  horse's  head.  In  his  hand  Pete  held  a 
shotgun  of  the  kind  used  by  express-messengers,  with 
sawed-off  barrels  and  heavy  charges  of  buckshot  in 
them.  It  was  pitch-dark  inside  the  cave,  and  Pete 
edged  his  way  carefully,  seeing  nothing  until  the 
passage  took  a  turn.  Then,  beyond,  glowed  two 
spots  of  dull-green  flame.  They  were  the  eyes  of  the 

92 


Rouge-et-Noir 


beast.  The  Wells-Fargo  burnt  a  red  hole  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  the  echoing  walls  gave  back  a  crash  like 
thunder.  Then  another  shot,  and  Pete  backed  into 
the  open,  coughing  and  choking  from  the  sulphurous 
fumes.  He  caught  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and,  drop 
ping  the  shotgun,  drew  a  pistol  and  dove  into  the 
black  hole  once  more. 

"  Is  it  a  puma,  Pete  ? "  some  one  asked  at  length.  It 
was  not.  Pete's  answer  was  lengthy  and  hyperbolic, 
but  on  that  point  it  was  quite  clear ;  and  the  squaw, 
catching  up  the  precious  bag,  which  she  thrust  into 
her  bosom,  bundled  on  to  the  wagered  horse,  and 
lashing  him  furiously,  followed  her  companions. 

Then  once  more  Pete's  voice  was  heard  from  inside 
the  cave,  raised  in  earnest  profanity,  which  grew 
louder  and  more  distinct  until  Pete  appeared  in  the 
opening,  his  six-shooter  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
the  bloody  remains  of  a  large  black  cat  of  the  domestic 
variety. 

It  was  Tom,— Tom,  the  sign  and  totem  of  the  Black 
Cat  saloon,— Pete's  especial  pet,  and  the  only  tame  cat 
within  fifty  miles.  Around  his  neck  there  was  a 
thong,  by  means  of  which  he  had  been  tied  in  the 
cave.  Pete's  wrath  grew  greater  as  he  looked,  and  he 
became  quiet,  as  was  his  wont  when  angry.  It  was  a 
trick— a  trick  played  on  him,  and  by  an  Indian,  who 
was  gone  now,  and  gone  with  many  of  his  tribe  about 
him;  besides,  an  Indian,  more  especially  one  of  a 
tribe  that  occasionally  varies  the  monotony  of  reser 
vation  life  by  the  murder  of  defenceless  settlers,  one 
must  not  shoot,  for  they  draw  government  rations 

93 


Sand  and  Cactus 

and  are  protected  by  federal  laws  and  officers.  A 
Mexican,  however,  is  different :  no  one  protects  him, 
or  wants  to ;  and  Pete  looked  at  the  swarthy  faces 
about  him  for  a  sign  of  levity;  but  more  dejected- 
appearing  specimens  of  the  Latin  race  it  would  be 
impossible  to  find ;  so  he  retired  to  his  saloon,  closing 
the  door  after  him. 

Wet  Dog  was  soon  overtaken  by  the  squaw  who  had 
been  left  behind  with  the  horse,  and  they  had  ridden 
on  for  some  time.  They  were  going  slowly,  for  the 
way  was  steep.  When  he  beckoned  her  to  him  he 
was  rocking  in  his  saddle  with  silent  mirth ;  for  the 
Apache,  unlike  many  other  Indians,  will  laugh  heartily 
enough  when  anything  strikes  his  somewhat  peculiar 
sense  of  humor,  and  his  dignity  allows ;  and  now  he 
was  on  exceedingly  good  terms  with  himself  as  his 
wife,  with  a  dutiful  little  murmur  of  joy,  handed  him 
the  bag.  He  undid  the  string  and  poured  part  of  the 
contents  out  in  his  hand.  His  face  grew  dark,  for 
this  was  not  gold,— far  from  it,— but  little  black  pel 
lets,  and  many  of  them :  about  a  pound  and  a  half 
of  No.  4  shot. 

Wet  Dog  was  dazed  for  a  moment,  but  the  squaw 
wailed.  This  recalled  him  to  himself,  and  he  was  im 
polite  enough  to  throw  the  handful  of  shot  in  her  face. 
Then  he  rode  on,  lost  in  thought.  The  wisdom  of  the 
red  man  he  had  been  born  to ;  he  had  acquired  that  of 
the  whites;  and  of  the  black  man  he  now  had  seen 
something :  but  his  heart  was  heavy  within  him,  and 
he  desired  to  know  no  more. 


94 


TIZZARD   CASTLE 


TIZZARD  CASTLE 


ILONG  the  old  government  road  the  Yuma  mail 
\  plodded  at  a  shuffling  trot.  There  had  been  rain 
-£x  the  day  before— one  of  those  rare  showers  that 
once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  a  year  come  to  moisten 
the  parched  surface  of  the  Arizona  desert,  across 
which  the  trail  ran  like  a  white  ribbon  laid  over  its 
desolate  brown  expanse.  Ordinarily  the  desert  also 
was  white ;  but  the  rain  had  darkened  it  to  a  coffee 
color,  dotted  with  disease-like  blotches  of  a  still  deeper 
hue  where  the  water  lay  in  shallow  depressions  of  the 
clay-mixed  sand. 

The  trail  had  dried  quickly ;  the  powdery  dust  with 
which  it  was  covered  rose  in  thick  clouds  from  under 
the  hoofs  of  the  horses.  It  drifted  through  the 
windows  and  settled  on  the  roof  of  the  stage,  cover 
ing  the  unhappy  passengers  with  a  thick,  gritty  coat 
ing  that  turned  to  mud  on  their  faces,  moistened  by 
the  stifling  heat. 

Beside  the  sleepy  driver  the  express-messenger 
nodded.  From  time  to  time  he  would  swear  gasp 
ingly,  because,  as  it  was  yet  early  morning,  the  heat 

97 


Sand  and  Cactus 

would  grow  worse  as  the  sun  rose  higher.  The 
capitalist,  who  sat  behind  him,  at  these  times  would 
second  him  with  oaths  made  in  Chicago,  while  the 
other  passengers,  a  gambler  and  two  prospectors, 
would  murmur  a  feeble  chorus  of  profane  assent. 
Conversation  languished.  When  the  express-mes 
senger  had  temporarily  exhausted  his  objurgatory 
powers  there  would  be  an  interval  of  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  faint,  rhythmical  creak  of  the  thorough- 
brace  and  the  low  rattle  of  harness,  all  keeping 
time  to  the  muffled  pad  of  the  sixteen  unshod 
hoofs. 

A  little  farther  along  a  clump  of  greenish-gray 
mesquit  swallowed  up  the  trail,  and  disgorged  it  on  the 
farther  side.  The  driver  languidly  straightened  him 
self  in  his  seat. 

"  You  was  talkin'  awhile  back  'bout  that  ther*  hold 
up  two  year  ago,"  he  said  to  the  express-messenger. 
"That's  the  place  where  it  was— right  in  the  middle 
er  that  ther'  clump  er  mesquit,  yander.  'Twas  jus' 
before  I  come  on  this  run— Jim  Marlin  he  was  a-drivin' 
that  day.  Billy  Wheeler  he  was  on  as  messenger; 
'twas  his  firs'  trip  as  messenger,  same  as  this  is  your'n. 
They  done  him — cold." 

The  driver  glanced  at  his  companion  to  note  the 
effect  of  his  announcement.  Both  the  messenger  and 
the  passengers  were  looking  at  the  clump  of  gnarled 
and  distorted  trees  with  a  species  of  mild  interest,  but 
that  was  all.  The  driver  was  disappointed,  and  with 
a  grunt  he  settled  into  himself,  as  before. 

As  they  entered  the  thicket  the  horses  were  moved 


Tizzard  Castle 

to  a  trot  of  a  more  decided  character  by  the  flies, 
which,  disturbed  from  their  rest  in  the  shade,  rose  in 
swarms  from  the  surrounding  growth.  It  was  not  a 
large  thicket.  Beyond,  in  the  open,  lay  the  trail, 
stretching  away  in  the  glaring  sunlight. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  of  horses  crashing 
through  the  undergrowth.  One  of  the  stage  leaders 
reared  and  swung  against  his  mate  as  a  man  sprang 
from  the  undergrowth  and  caught  at  his  head.  In 
stinctively  the  driver  raised  his  great  whip  and  laid 
its  stinging  thong  over  the  quarters  of  the  forward 
span.  The  messenger,  startled  into  sudden  life, 
caught  up  the  Wells-Fargo  that  lay  at  his  feet.  As 
the  horses  sprang  forward,  the  man  who  had  caught 
at  their  heads  was  brushed  aside,  and  staggered  to  the 
side  of  the  road.  His  mask  was  displaced,  and  as  the 
stage  rolled  by  his  face  was  upturned.  Into  the  face 
the  messenger  fired  one  barrel  of  his  Wells-Fargo,  and 
then  it  was  a  face  no  longer.  More  men  appeared. 
Two  of  them  caught  the  lead-horses,  and  forced  them 
back  nearly  on  to  their  haunches.  Catching  his  whip 
in  his  left  hand,  the  driver  snatched  a  pistol  from 
under  the  seat-cushion,  and  fired.  There  was  another 
roar  from  the  messenger's  sawed-off  shotgun,  and  the 
gambler's  derringers  barked  malignantly.  A  rattling 
crash  came  from  the  thicket  in  answer.  The  two 
miners,  who  had  thrown  up  their  hands,  lowered 
them,  and  when  they  were  raised  again  they  held 
pistols  that  flashed  at  short  but  regular  intervals, 
without  either  haste  or  delay.  The  driver  fired  again, 
and  vainly  tried  to  raise  his  pistol  for  a  third  shotj 

99 


Sand  and  Cactus 

then  he  swayed  in  his  seat,  and  fell  in  a  huddled  heap 
on  the  foot-board. 

Leaning  forward,  the  capitalist  grasped  the  reins 
and  whip,  plying  them  with  a  skill  that  spoke  of 
practice  as  the  frightened  horses  broke  into  a  run. 
A  few  scattering  shots  followed  the  flying  stage.  One 
of  the  miners  turned  in  his  seat,  raised  his  pistol  and 
fired.  An  oath  that  was  two  thirds  a  scream  told  of 
the  success  of  his  shot,  and  with  a  satisfied  smile  he 
recharged  the  six-shooter  and  returned  it  to  the  holster 
on  his  hip. 

For  a  few  moments  the  stage  spun  on  in  silence. 
Looking  back,  its  passengers  could  see  that  some  of 
their  late  assailants  had  mounted  and  were  urging 
their  horses  over  the  open  desert  in  a  course  nearly 
parallel  to  that  taken  by  the  stage.  Others  were 
gathered  in  a  group,  bending  over  something  that  lay 
on  the  ground— a  fact  which  made  the  miner's  smile 
grow  broader  and  more  satisfied  as  he  gazed. 

"Beckon  them  road-agents7!!  try  7n7  cut  in  on  us 
roun7  by  that  arroyo,  three  mile  farther  on,'7  said  he 
at  last  to  the  other  miner.  "  I  don't  reckon  we  got 
much  use  fer  another  scrap— not  jus7  now,  anyhow. 
Better  pull  off'n  this  yer  road  an7  make  fer  the  river 
settlements.  Some  er  them  won7t  be  none  so  fur 
f'um  this.  Don't  yer  reckon  we'd  best  fall  off  some, 
Tuspon?77 

"  Reykon,77  replied  Tuspon,  slowly,  after  taking  some 
time  to  consider  his  reply.  "  P'r'aps  we7d  bettah  go  to 
Tizzahd7s  place,— Tizzahd  Castle,  they  calls  it,— that 
lies  a  mile  aw  two  ovah  beyon7  by  the  rivah,  theah. 

IOO 


Tizzard  Castle 

Then  we  kin  sen'  an'  scaiah  up  a  gang  to  roun'  up  them 
chromos  what  done  up  the  drivah."  He  spoke  in  the 
long,  soft  drawl  that  the  natives  of  southern  Texas 
acquire  from  the  combined  influence  of  the  Mexican 
and  the  negro. 

"  That's  what  I  say.  Yer  right,  if  yer  did  take  all 
day  t'  say  it,"  croaked  Macklin.  "  Pull  t'  the  right  off 
here,"  he  went  on,  addressing  the  capitalist.  "  There's 
a  trail  that  way  that'll  lead  us  t'  somebody's  joint. 
Pull  off— hear?" 

Without  looking  around,  the  capitalist  swung  the 
horses  sharply  to  the  right,  and  for  an  instant  the 
stage  hung  on  two  wheels  as  it  turned.  The  mes 
senger  feebly  tried  to  counterbalance  the  swing.  He 
was  about  to  fall,  but  the  gambler  reached  forward 
and  caught  him,  saying :  "  You  hurt,  too  ?  I  didn't 
see  that."  Tuspon  climbed  laboriously  over  the  seat, 
and  between  them  he  and  the  gambler  carefully  low 
ered  the  messenger  until  he  lay  on  the  foot-board  be 
side  the  driver. 

"Look-a  yeah,  Macklin,"  drawled  Tuspon,  as  he, 
straightened  himself  from  the  task.  "Reykon  that 
we-" 

"  Reckon  we  might  as  well  pull  up  and  kinder  take 
account  er  stock,  like.  Yes ;  yer  right,"  interrupted 
his  mate.  "Why  can't  yuh  talk  fast  ernough  so's  a 
man'll  have  time  ter  stop  an'  hear  yer?  Better  pull 
in  them  horses." 

"Wasn'  go'n'  tah  say  nothin'  laike  that,"  observed 
Tuspon,  leisurely.  "I  was  tellin'  that  Tizzahd's  was 
jus'  theah.  See,  yondah  ? " 

101 


Sand  and  Cactus 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  ridge  of  sand,  over 
which  appeared  the  top  of  a  gray  adobe  building.  It 
was  utterly  unlike  the  ordinary  adobe  house;  even 
the  roof  showed  that,  for  it  was  castellated,  and  at 
one  end  it  was  raised  some  feet  above  the  rest. 
At  this  end  a  pole  was  planted,  from  which  floated 
a  flag— a  white  flag,  bearing  a  strange,  half -heral 
dic  device,  apparently  cut  from  red  flannel  and 
sewed  on. 

Then  the  stage  mounted  a  rise,  and  the  rest  of  the 
house  came  into  view.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch, 
four  or  five  feet  deep,  and  rather  wider  than  it  was 
deep.  Narrow  slits  took  the  place  of  windows  in  the 
outer  walls,  and  the  one  door  that  pierced  them, 
apparently  leading  into  a  patio,  or  inner  court,  was 
closed  by  a  heavy  sliding  gateway  made  of  rough- 
hewn  timbers.  In  front  of  the  door  three  or  four 
planks,  spiked  together,  lay  across  the  ditch.  At  the 
end  nearest  the  house  these  planks  were  hinged  j  at 
the  other  end  ropes  were  fastened  that  led  through 
holes  in  the  adobe  walls. 

"  Good  Lord,  this  takes  me !  "  said  the  gambler,  as 
he  saw  these  mediaeval  preparations  for  defence. 
"What  sort  of  a  place  is  this,  anyhow?  There's  a 
portcullis— drawbridge,  too." 

"  Yeahs,"  said  Tuspon ;  "  they  draws  it  up  with  them 
theah  ropes.  Don7  savvy  no  pohtcullises,  'thout  you 
mean  that  theah  windah-sash  gate.  That  piece  ah 
red  shu't  on  the  sheet  what  hangs  on  the  pole  up 
theah,  that  means  that  Frawg  Tizzahd  he's  in  the 
place.  When  he's  away  she  hauls  it  down— Lady 

102 


Tizzard  Castle 

Tizzahd  she  hauls  it  down.  Theah  she  is;  now, 
stan'in7  by  the  pole  on  the  roof.  See?" 

"  She's  gone,"  said  Macklin.  "  Didn't  go  ter  s'pose 
she's  goV  ter  wait  there  till  you  got  done  tellin'  it, 
did  yer?" 

As  he  spoke  the  drawbridge  slowly  ascended  and 
the  portcullis  slid  down.  When  the  stage  reached  the 
strange  structure  it  was  silent  and  apparently  deserted. 

"  What's  gone  wrong  with  the  locos  what  run  this 
yer  joint?"  Macklin  went  on  impatiently,  as  they 
pulled  up  by  the  ditch.  "Have  we  got  ter  break 
inter  the  oP  ken?" 

By  way  of  an  answer,  Tuspon  pointed  to  a  tin  horn 
that  hung,  tied  to  a  post,  near  the  drawbridge. 

"What  in  blazes  is  that  for?"  growled  the  capital 
ist  ;  but  the  gambler  said :  "  They  Ve  got  the  whole 
thing  up  to  date,  or  back  to  date— that's  all.  Let 
me  get  out,  and  then  just  watch  me  while  I  blow 
a  blast  that  will  call  the  seneschal  to  the  outer  walls. 
Lord,  what  a  lot  of  lunatics  we  must  have  run 
against ! " 

He  descended,  and  going  to  the  post,  lifted  the  horn 
and  blew  a  loud,  discordant  blast.  Instantly  a  head 
appeared  over  the  top  of  the  wall.  It  was  a  peculiar 
head.  Its  eyes  were  rather  large  and  stood  out  from 
the  short  face.  Chin  there  was  none.  The  mouth  was 
enormously  wide,  and  was  edged  with  the  thinnest  of 
lips— lips  that  curved  downward.  Evidently  the  per 
son  to  whom  the  head  belonged  was  climbing  a  ladder 
planted  against  the  wall,  for  the  head  appeared  by 
degrees,  and  by  degrees  the  body  followed  it.  It  was 

103 


Sand  and  Cactus 

a  round  body,  but  without  much  corpulence.     The 
arms  were  short  and  the  legs  were  long. 

"Theah's  Frawg  Tizzahd— that's  him/'  remarked 
Tuspon. 

"  Frog  ? "  said  the  gambler.     "  Looks  it,  don't  he  ? " 

In  his  appearance  the  man  certainly  suggested 
a  frog.  Even  the  capitalist  recognized  that,  and 
stopped  his  swearing  long  enough  to  emit  a  hysterical 
chuckle.  Then  he  took  up  his  profanity  where  he  had 
left  it  off.  The  queer  figure  reached  the  top  of  the 
wall,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  stage  and  its  passengers 
with  a  comprehensive  smile. 

"Are  you  the  warden  of  this  keep?"  asked  the 
gambler. 

The  man  on  the  wall,  if  he  heard,  made  no  sign  of 
having  done  so. 

"  I  say,  you  man  on  the  battlements,  are  you  the 
chief  of  this  domain  ? "  again  queried  the  gambler  j 
"  because,  if  you  are,  we  want  to  get  in." 

"Who  is  it  that  demands  the  right  of  entrance 
here  ? "  suddenly  came,  in  a  feminine  voice,  shrill  but 
deliberate,  from  behind  the  wall. 

Macklin  and  the  capitalist  raised  their  voices  in 
urgent  profanity.  Each  sought  to  explain  the  plight 
in  which  they  found  themselves,  and  each  sought  to 
demand  admittance.  Now  and  then  one  would  show 
signs  of  easing  off  his  flow  of  words  in  favor  of  the 
other,  but  as  the  other  would  always  be  moved  by  a 
similar  impulse  at  the  same  moment,  they  would  start 
together  and  talk  at  the  same  time  as  before.  Finally, 
vanquished  by  his  more  voluble  companion,  Macklin 
ceased,  and  the  capitalist  talked  rapidly  on. 

104 


Tizzard  Castle 

"I  fail  to  comprehend/7  said  the  voice  at  length, 
as  the  capitalist  paused  for  an  instant.  "You  are 
strangers,  and  of  strangers  we  are  wary,  for  the 
times  are  parlous.  Also  you  bear  the  marks  of  a 
fray." 

"  Fray !  "  roared  Macklin.  "  Wasn'  I  jus'  tellin'  you 
that  we  runned  agains'  a  gang  er  road-agents  what 
done  up  two  on  us  an'—" 

"  Hold  on,"  interrupted  the  gambler,  in  a  low  tone. 
"I'll  speak  to  them.  Just  wait."  He  stopped  and 
thought  for  a  moment,  smiled,  and  went  on,  raising 
his  voice  and  addressing  the  unseen  woman:  "In 
deed,  lady,  we  demand  nothing;  only  do  we  crave 
sanctuary  here  for  a  time.  We  have  been  sore  beset 
by  outlaws  who  essayed  to  rob  us,  and  in  the  melee 
that  followed  two  of  our  comrades  were  wounded,  as 
you  may  see.  Therefore  do  we  seek  an  asylum  where 
we  can  dress  their  wounds.  We  cannot  go  farther  as 
we  are,  and  without  succor  the  men  will  die,  for  truly 
they  are  in  evil  case." 

"  Didn't  start  out  seekin'  no  asylum,  but  we  found 
one  all  right  enough,"  growled  Macklin. 

There  was  no  reply  from  inside  the  wall,  but  the 
drawbridge  fell  with  a  whistling  of  running  ropes  and 
a  final  bang  on  the  wooden  sill  set  in  the  ground  to 
receive  it.  The  horses  started  at  the  noise,  jolting  the 
two  bodies  cruelly. 

Gathering  in  his  team,  the  capitalist  began  to 
swear ;  but  the  gambler  stopped  him : 

"  Shut  up.  It's  a  woman,  don't  you  see  ?  Besides, 
we  want  to  get  in." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  portcullis,  now  fully 

105 


Sand  and  Cactus 

revealed  by  the  fall  of  the  drawbridge.  Behind  the 
heavy  grating  a  woman  stood,  gazing  at  the  people 
on  the  stage  outside.  The  gambler  ran  quickly  across 
the  drawbridge,  lifted  his  hat,  and  bowed  low. 

"  Fortune  has  befriended  us  in  finding  for  us  a 
refuge  such  as  this— and  with  so  fair  a  chatelaine,"  he 
said.  "  Command,  I  pray  you,  that  the  portcullis  be 
raised  and  that  we  be  admitted." 

"  In  faith,  fair  sir,  your  speech  is  courteous,"  replied 
the  woman.  "  It  shall  be  even  as  you  wish." 

Immediately  there  was  the  click  of  blocks  and  the 
creak  of  straining  tackle.  The  portcullis  lazily  rose, 
showing  more  fully  the  form  of  the  woman  who  stood 
in  the  gateway. 

"Punkin  an'  milk,  hair  an7  skim-milk,  eyes  an'— 
Good  Lord !  what  sorter  rig's  that  she's  got  on  'er  ? " 
ejaculated  Macklin,  softly. 

The  costume  of  the  woman  was  peculiar.  Her 
gown,  of  some  heavily  hanging  stuff,  was  made  in 
one  piece  from  head  to  heels.  Around  her  waist  it 
was  girt  to  her  body  by  a  thick  cord,  which,  after 
taking  several  turns,  fell  low,  in  a  loop,  through 
which  a  fold  of  the  gown  was  pulled.  At  the  ends 
of  the  cord  hung  a  wallet,  from  which  protruded  a 
pamphlet,  worn  and  yellow-covered. 

"  Say,  we  better  not  go  inter  that  ther'  cage,"  whis 
pered  Macklin,  hurriedly.  "  'Nough  sight  better  jolly 
'em  inter  lettin'  it  down  again,  an'  then  we  c'n  peg  it 
somehow,  so's  they  can't  h'ist  it  no  more.  They're 
nothin'  on  top  er  this  worl'  but  locos,  an'  like  as  not 
they'll  try  an'  cut  our  throats  at  night,  or  do  s'mother 

I  06 


Tizzard  Castle 

thing  like  that.  I  don't  min'  road-agents,— not  in 
moderation,  that  is, — but  I  can't  go  locos,  nohow. 
Hadn't  we  better  skip  out  an'  chance  it  ?  Say,  whatjer 
think?" 

No  one  answered  him.  Tuspon  and  the  gambler 
already  were  lifting  the  wounded  men  from  the  foot 
board,  and  seeing  that  his  appeal  was  ineffectual, 
Macklin  stepped  forward  to  help.  From  the  road 
and  its  blinding  sunlight  they  carried  first  the  driver 
and  then  the  messenger  into  a  broad,  shadowy  passage, 
where  a  cloth-swathed  olla  hung,  dripping  ceaselessly 
on  to  the  floor  of  hard-trodden  clay.  A  door  opened 
from  the  passage,  leading  to  an  inner  room,  where 
stood  their  hostess,  motioning  for  them  to  enter. 
They  carried  the  two  men  inside  and  laid  them  on 
piles  of  cattle-hides,  several  of  which  were  placed  at 
intervals  along  the  sides  of  the  room. 

"  I'll  see  what  this  man  needs,  as  well  as  I  can,"  said 
Macklin  to  the  gambler.  "  You  do  what  you  can  fer 
t'other." 

The  gambler  already  was  stooping  over  the  express- 
messenger's  senseless  form.  Cutting  away  the  cloth 
ing  that  covered  the  wounds,  he  probed  them  skilfully 
with  his  white,  slender  fingers;  while  close  beside 
him  Tuspon  waited,  anxious  to  help,  and  the  capi 
talist  paced  restlessly  up  and  down.  When  at  last 
the  gambler  lifted  his  eyes,  he  saw  that  Macklin  was 
standing  beside  him. 

"  He's  gone— the  driver— he's  gone,"  said  Macklin, 
sadly,  in  reply  to  the  gambler's  questioning  look. 
"  Once  through  the  ongbongpwang  he  got  it,  an'  once 

107 


Sand  and  Cactus 

higher  up.  Either  one  er  them  holes  would  er  done 
the  business  all  right  enough.  Hadn't  no  sense  in 
tryin'  ter  put  up  er  fight.  He  wouldn't  er  tried,  I 
reckon,  only  fer  his  savin's  that  he  was  a-sendin'  to 
his  wife,  that  was  in  that  ther'  express-safe.  He  paid 
fer  it  kinder  high,  he  did,  but  he  had  sand— always 
had.  How's  Charley?" 

"  The  messenger  ?  He'll  do,  I  think— hope,  anyhow. 
But  he's  got  it  bad.  He  wants  a  doctor.  You'd 
better  take  one  of  the  horses  and  ride  back  after  one. 
Bring  a  sheriff,  too,  and  a  posse  to  round  up  those 
road-agents  if  they  can.  Anyhow,  bring  the  posse. 
Get  the  safe  off  the  stage  and  in  here,  where  we  can 
keep  an  eye  on  it ;  Tuspon  and  I  can  attend  to  it  then, 
as  well  as  to  this  man,  here.  You  might  take  that 
Chicago  man  with  you.'7 

"  You're  not  going  to  take  me  with  you,  I'll  tell  you 
those,"  remarked  the  capitalist.  "I'm  going  to  stay 
right  here.  You'll  have  to  ride  bareback,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  be  split  by  the  ridge-pole  of  one  of  those 
horses.  I'll  stay  here." 

Macklin  made  no  protest  against  the  decision  of  the 
capitalist. 

"  Reckon  you'll  have  ter  come,  then,  Tuspon,"  said 
he.  "  We'll  have  ter  ride  bareback,  I  think,  myself— 
don't  see  no  saddles  nowhere  about.  Come  out,  first, 
an'  get  the  safe  in  here."  He  turned  and  went  out, 
followed  by  Tuspon  and  the  gambler. 

The  stage  stood  where  they  had  left  it,  and  under 
its  box-seat  the  canvas-covered  safe  could  plainly  be 
seen,  with  red  stains  here  and  there  on  its  white  front. 

1 08 


Tizzard  Castle 

Macldin  reached  for  the  safe,  while  Tuspon  climbed 
on  the  wheel  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  Give  'er  a  push  this  way,  Tuspon/'  called  Macklin  j 
then  to  the  gambler :  "  Stand  by  to  back  me  up,  so's 
the  weight  won't  throw  me." 

The  gambler  moved  forward  as  desired.  Macklin, 
assisted  by  Tuspon's  push,  heaved  lustily.  The  chest 
yielded  with  an  ease  that  was  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  force  brought  against  it.  It  flew  toward  Macklin, 
who,  overbalanced  by  his  pull,  fell  backward  before 
the  gambler  could  reach  him.  Macklin  reached  the 
ground  first ;  the  chest  arrived  immediately  afterward 
and  landed  on  his  body,  then  rolled  on  to  the  sand 
and  lay  there,  the  white  canvas  gleaming  in  the  sun. 

"Where  are  you  hurt— can  you  stand?"  asked  the 
gambler,  as  he  ran  to  the  prostrate  man. 

Macklin  could  stand.  He  ran  to  the  safe  and  kicked 
it;  it  flew  from  him  as  a  football  might  fly.  He 
caught  it  up  in  his  hands  and  dashed  it  on  the  corner 
of  the  drawbridge  sill ;  it  bounded  off.  And  then  he 
jumped  on  it.  From  beneath  the  canvas  cover  there 
came  the  sound  of  splitting  wood. 

"  That's  the  treasure  we  was  all  a-fightin'  fer,"  ex 
claimed  Macklin,  as  he  drew  a  knife  and  ripped  off  the 
canvas,  disclosing  a  shattered  box  made  of  thin  pine 
boards.  "  That's  a  thing  fer  two  sensible  men  ter  get 
killed  about,  ain't  it?  What  yer  gawpin'  at,  you 
fool  ? "  This  last  was  addressed  to  Tuspon,  who  had 
strolled  around  the  stage  and  stood  looking  at  the 
sham  safe. 

Tuspon  glanced  up  with  a  gentle  smile. 
109 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  Looks  kindah  like  we  got  sucked  in,  don't  it  ? "  he 
drawled. 

"  Sucked  in  !  n  roared  Macklin.  "  We  be'n  robbed, 
you  chump !  Robbed  before  that  there  gang  er  road- 
agents  got  ever  a  chance  at  us.  Get  that  through  yer 
thickhead?" 

"  How  sold  them  fellahs  would  'a'  been,  if  we'd  only 
knowed  about  it  an'  let  'em  take  the  safe,"  observed 
Tuspon,  still  smiling.  "An'  then,  it—" 

"Say  what  yer  go'n'  ter  say  before  ter-morrer,  if 
yer  can,"  called  Macklin,  impatiently. 

"An'  then,  it  ain't  no  skin  offn  you  if  that  theah 
chest  is  rawbed,  is  it?"  Tuspon  went  on,  undis 
mayed.  "  You  ain't  gawt  nahthin'  in  it." 

"  Don't  make  any  difference  whether  he  had  or  not," 
growled  the  capitalist.  "  We're  all  in  the  scrape,  just 
as  much  as  the  driver  and  his  mate ;  and  it  served  them 
right  for  being  on  the  old  hearse,  that's  good  for  noth 
ing  but  a  double-barrelled  funeral  like  this,  anyway." 

"  Likely  it'll  be  a  three-bah'led  f une'hl  if  you  keep 
awn  talkin'  like  that,"  observed  Tuspon,  in  his  softest 
voice.  "  I  nevah  did  have  no  use  foh  that  man— not 
the  leas'  in  the  worl',"  he  went  on,  addressing  the 
gambler,  as  though  the  man  of  whom  he  spoke  were 
not  present.  "Mos'  prawb'ly  I'll  huht  him,  one  ah 
these  times,  if  he  keeps  so  plentiful." 

While  Tuspon  was  speaking,  both  he  and  Macklin 
were  rapidly  unharnessing  the  lead-team  of  the  stage. 
Having  thrown  off  the  gear,  for  an  instant  they  threw 
themselves  limply  over  the  backbones  of  their  mounts, 
then  each  threw  a  leg  across  and  sat  up.  Beating  the 

I  IO 


Tizzard  Castle 

sides  of  their  horses  with  their  unspurred  heels,  they 
urged  the  animals  to  a  gallop,  and  disappeared  down 
the  trail. 

"  Well,"  said  the  gambler,  as  he  turned  toward  the 
house,  "I  suppose  we'd  better  go  inside  out  of  this 
sun.  We  can  only  wait,  now.7' 

The  capitalist  stood  looking  down  the  trail. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  absently.  He  stood  for 
a  moment  longer,  then  walked  quickly  toward  the 
stage.  "  I  guess  I  don't  want  the  job  of  waiting  that 
you're  telling  about,"  he  said,  as  he  began  to  unbuckle 
the  harness  of  one  of  the  wheel-horses.  "Anyhow, 
there's  only  one  man's  work  here."  He  flung  off  the 
harness,  and  unbuckled  the  names.  The  collar  did 
not  come  off  easily,  so  he  let  it  remain,  and  mounting 
by  means  of  a  wheel,  he  started  in  the  direction  taken 
by  the  others.  The  gambler  reentered  the  house. 

The  wounded  man  was  tossing  from  side  to  side  on 
the  pile  of  skins.  Beside  him  stood  the  woman.  She 
had  a  cup  in  her  hand,  from  which  she  had  been  giving 
him  water. 

"  The  fever  is  on  him  now,"  she  said,  as  the  gambler 
entered.  "  In  a  little  while  it  should  spend  itself.  He 
is  young  and  strong,  and  will  live."  She  bent  over  the 
messenger,  examining  the  dressing  of  his  wounds. 
Then  she  deftly  eased  a  bandage.  "  These  are  over- 
strait;  they  give  him  pain.  I  know  something  of 
leechcraft,"  she  explained. 

The  gambler  offered  to  help  her,  but  she  waved  him 
aside. 

"  It  is  meet  that  I  should  do  this,"  she  said.  "  The 
I  I  I 


Sand  and  Cactus 

place  of  the  women  is  here.  At  present  there  are 
none  here  but  myself,  and  my  husband  is  the  only 
man.  He  stands  guard  on  the  battlements  until  some 
of  our  retainers  shall  return.  No  harm  will  befall 
those  who  claim  our  protection.  It  is  enough  that  we 
take  toll  of  the  others  who  pass.  That  is  our  right  as 
lords  of  the  soil.  All  that  you  can  see  from  the  towers 
is  of  our  domain." 

As  she  talked  she  was  attending  to  the  wounded 
man,  moistening  his  bandages  and  fanning  him,  while 
the  gambler  watched  her.  That  she  was  mildly  in 
sane  he  had  not  the  least  doubt.  Still,  this  talk  of 
taking  toll,  couched  though  it  was  in  mediaeval  terms, 
fell  in  too  closely  with  the  experience  of  the  morning 
to  be  altogether  reassuring.  It  was  said  in  a  matter- 
of-course  way  that  gave  it  an  air  of  truth  which  was 
puzzling,  to  say  the  least.  Still,  she  had  also  said 
that  guests  would  be  respected,  and  certainly  she 
seemed  to  mean  it  as  far  as  the  messenger  was  con 
cerned. 

The  gambler  thought  it  all  over  carefully,  and  he 
felt  uneasy.  He  looked  to  the  cartridges  in  his  two 
stubby  little  double-barrelled  derringers.  They  were 
poor  weapons,  however,  these  derringers,  for  any 
range  but  the  very  shortest.  He  took  up  the  mes 
senger's  cartridge-belt,  which  lay  on  the  floor,  and 
buckled  it,  with  the  pistol  in  the  holster,  around  his 
waist. 

The  gambler  strolled  out  into  the  passage.  One 
end  of  it  was  closed  by  the  portcullis,  which  was  low 
ered,  and  through  its  heavy  bars  he  could  see  that  the 

112 


Tizzard  Castle 

drawbridge  was  raised,  darkening  the  passage  at  that 
end,  save  for  two  gleams  of  light  that  found  their  way 
in  at  the  sides  where  the  drawbridge  did  not  quite 
cover  the  opening.  The  other  end  of  the  passage  gave 
on  to  a  species  of  courtyard,  made  by  the  wall  on  three 
sides  and  the  house  itself  on  the  fourth.  The  top  of 
the  wall  was  so  broad  as  to  make  a  pathway  inside  its 
parapet,  and  along  this  pathway  Frog  Tizzard  was 
slowly  pacing.  When  he  reached  a  corner  he  would 
lower  his  rifle  from  his  shoulder  and  lean  on  it  while 
he  gazed  earnestly  over  the  desert.  Then  he  would 
pick  up  his  weapon  again  and  pass  on  to  the  next 
corner,  and  after  another  pause  to  the  next,  and  so  on 
for  round  after  round.  The  gambler  watched  until 
he  was  tired.  There  was  something  so  utterly  useless 
in  such  precautions  against  surprise  in  this  dismal 
emptiness  of  sand  that  they  seemed  to  place  the 
watcher  among  those  whose  senses  had  gone  astray ; 
yet  there  was  no  other  evidence  of  such  unsoundness, 
unless  it  lay  in  the  house  itself,  or  the  way  in  which 
the  household  was  carried  on. 

Impatient  and  hot,  the  gambler  returned  to  the 
house.  The  big,  dusky  room  was  deliciously  cool  after 
the  heat  and  glare  outside.  For  the  moment  the 
messenger  was  lying  quiet,  either  asleep  or  in  a 
stupor.  The  woman  was  beside  him.  She  was  seated 
in  a  chair,  made  with  arms  but  without  a  back,  of 
heavy  planks  crossed  saltierwise.  Like  the  other 
fittings  of  this  strange  room,  it  had  a  mediasval  look, 
as  well  as  a  suggestion  of  great  discomfort ;  but  its 
occupant  seemed  to  find  no  fault  with  it.  In  one 


Sand  and  Cactus 

hand  she  held  a  fan  made  of  feathers  •  in  the  other  a 
limpty  bound  book  which  she  was  reading.  Evidently 
she  was  much  interested  in  the  book,  for  from  time  to 
time  the  fan  would  stop  as  it  was  gently  waved  to  and 
fro  over  the  face  of  the  unconscious  messenger,  and 
gradually  the  arm  that  held  it  would  lower  until  the 
fan  touched  his  face ;  then,  with  a  little  start,  she  would 
raise  the  fan  and  wave  it  to  and  fro  as  before. 

The  messenger  was  breathing  lightly,  almost  imper 
ceptibly,  and  the  gambler  bent  over  him  to  listen. 
As  he  did  so,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  pamphlet  that 
the  woman  was  reading.  It  was  a  narrative  of  some 
kind,  and  was  largely  made  up  of  conversation.  Ex 
clamation-points,  like  little  balloons,  were  sprinkled 
plentifully  over  the  page. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  the  messenger. 
The  gambler  could  only  wait  for  the  return  of  his 
friends  with  the  help  they  were  to  bring.  He  paced 
up  and  down  the  room  like  a  caged  animal.  Around 
the  walls  there  hung  the  skulls  and  horns  of  cattle  or 
deer.  The  gambler  examined  them  carefully,  one  by 
one.  On  a  shelf,  made  of  a  box  pegged  to  the  adobe 
wall,  lay  piles  of  printed  matter— pamphlets  and  cheap 
books,  all  of  them  romances  of  the  middle  ages.  The 
gambler  selected  one  and  tried  to  read ;  but  the  tale 
could  not  hold  his  interest,  and  he  threw  the  book 
down. 

At  noon  the  woman  gave  him  food— thick  slabs  of 
cold  beef,  ship-biscuit,  and  pulque  with  which  to  wash 
them  down. 

"The  trestles  will  not  be  brought  forth  nor  the 


Tizzard  Castle 

board  laid,"  she  said  apologetically  to  the  gambler. 
"  Our  household  is  too  small,  at  present,  to  enable 
us  to  do  as  we  would  for  our  guests." 

The  gambler  wanted  nothing  to  eat.  He  watched 
her  as  she  arranged  a  portion  of  food  on  a  wooden 
trencher,  evidently  for  her  husband.  As  she  passed 
out  the  door,  he  followed  her,  "to  see  the  animals 
fed,"  as  he  told  himself,  in  a  despairing  effort  to  be 
facetious.  His  hostess  disappeared  on  the  roof,  and 
reappeared  on  the  wall.  As  she  came  toward  him, 
Tizzard  stopped  in  his  walk,  looked  at  her,  and  smiled. 
He  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  parapet,  and  taking  the 
disengaged  hand  of  his  wife,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
She  set  down  the  trencher  and  gently  patted  the  hand 
that  held  hers ;  then  she  presented  her  cheek,  he  kissed 
it,  and  she  left  him,  passing  out  of  the  gambler's  sight 
on  to  the  roof.  Tizzard  stood  looking  after  her  as  she. 
went,  then  began  eating  his  food,  keeping  a  lookout 
over  the  desert  as  he  did  so.  This  did  not  seem  like 
the  conduct  of  criminals  or  malignant  lunatics.  The 
gambler  was  puzzled  as  he  went  into  the  house,  but 
more  suspicious,  even,  than  before. 

The  long  afternoon  wore  itself  slowly  away.  The 
gambler  strolled  aimlessly  from  the  room  where  the 
wounded  man  lay  out  into  the  courtyard  and  back 
again.  Tizzard  was  plainly  to  be  seen  from  the  court 
yard,  his  ungainly  body  standing  in  sharp  relief 
against  the  bright  sky  as  he  walked  his  unending 
round  of  the  walls  and  roof. 

Toward  evening  Macklin's  voice  hailed  from  the 
road. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  Hi,  thar !  "  lie  called.  "  Anybody  left  alive  in  that 
ther7  asylum  ? 77 

The  gambler  cast  loose  the  ropes  that  held  the 
drawbridge,  and  made  the  clumsy  windlass  creak  dis 
mally  as  he  raised  the  portcullis. 

"Say,  it  ain't  no  fool  of  a  ride  down  to  that  ther7 
camp,"  said  Macklin,  as  he  slid  from  his  horse  and 
crossed  the  little  drawbridge.  "  I  reckon  that  Chicago 
man  he  thinks  so,  anyhow.  He  likes  ter  stan7  up  now. 
He  got  the  poores7  horse  in  the  four— the  one  that  had 
the  sharpes7  ridge-pole,  as  he  calls  it.  He's  comin7  back 
in  a  buggy,  split  mos'  up  ter  the  collar-bone.'7 

"Where's  the  rest?77  asked  the  gambler.  "Didn7t 
you  bring  any  one  back  with  you  ?  " 

"  Sure.  Six  men  an7  a  doctor.  I  pushed  on  ahead ; 
I  didn't  wanter  leave  you  alone  here  any  longer'n  I  had 
ter.  Tuspon  he  wanted  ter  come  back,  too,  but  they 
rounded  him  up  with  ther  gang  what's  out  after  them 
thieves.  The  boys  up  there  they  lent  me  this  pony  an7 
saddle,  an7 1  pulled  my  freight  f er  here  without  stoppin7 
none.  The  doctor  an7  the  other  six'll  be  along  none  so 
long  behin7.  How7s  the  messenger  ?  '7 

As  the  gambler  answered  the  question,  Macklin 
began  to  wink  in  a  significant  manner  and  to  edge 
toward  the  door.  Still  talking,  the  gambler  followed 
him. 

"  I  didn't  wanter  say  nothin7,  not  in  there,  with 
that  loony  woman  standin7  by,77  said  Macklin,  as  soon 
as  they  reached  the  courtyard ;  "  but  I  wanter  give 
yer  the  straight  word.  This  place  here  is  dead  shady. 
Down  ter  the  camp  all  the  boys  says  so.  The  gang  er 

116 


Tizzard  Castle 

pirates  what  hangs  roun'  here,  makin'  out  that  they're 
punchers,  is  as  tough  an  outfit  as  ther*  is  in  the  Ter7- 
tory.  The  boys  has  suspicioned  'em  doin'  a  lot  er 
things,  but  they  ain't  proved  nothin',  so  fur.  Likely 
they'll  be  back,  now,  mos'  any  time.  We  c'n  hoi'  'ern. 
outer  here,  all  right  enough,  if  so  be  we  shoots  Frog 
Tizzard  firs',  so's  he  can't  help  'em  from  th'  inside.- 
That's  the  reason  I  come  back.  Say,  don't  you  reckon 
I'd  better  do  him  now,  an'  make  sure  ?  We  can't  leave 
here,  not  with  that  ther7  wounded  man— no  place  ter 
go.  Say,  shall  I  do  him?" 

As  he  spoke  he  made  a  movement  toward  the  heavy 
pistol  that  hung  on  his  hip. 

The  gambler  caught  his  hand. 

"  Hold  on,  you  fool !  "  he  cried.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  Think,  if  you're  able  to.  You've  got 
nothing  to  go  on  but  a  suspicion— camp  talk.  All 
that  these  people  have  done  to  us  so  far  is  to  give  us 
the  best  they've  got  after  takin'  us  in." 

"  We  got  taken  in  all  right  enough— you  did,  any 
how,"  growled  Macklin,  glancing  at  Tizzard,  who  was 
still  pacing  the  walls.  "  But  I  do'  wanter  shoot  no 
man  like  that— kinder  in  the  back.  Nobody  ain't 
go'n'  ter  get  in  what  we  don't  want  in.  I'll  fix  that 
right  now." 

He  went  into  the  passage,  and  began  to  pull  at  the 
lines  that  raised  the  drawbridge.  He  had  not  fully 
hoisted  it  when  there  was  the  muffled  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  on  the  soft  sand  of  the  trail,  and  the  creaking 
of  saddles  and  the  click  of  spur-chains.  Then  some 
one  called. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"Here  they  come  now,"  shouted  Macklin,  with  a 
relieved  laugh,  as  he  let  the  bridge  fall  once  more. 

The  doctor  was  the  first  to  climb  stiffly  from  his 
horse.  He  detached  an  instrument-case  from  his 
saddle,  and,  without  speaking,  entered  the  door  of  the 
room  pointed  out  to  him  by  Macklin,  where  lay  the 
wounded  man. 

The  sun  was  going  down.  The  shadows  of  the  men, 
as  they  unsaddled  and  cared  for  their  horses,  stretched 
farther  and  farther  across  the  plain,  until  they  came 
to  the  wall  of  the  castle  and  commenced  to  creep  up 
its  face.  Before  the  men  had  finished,  the  shadows 
had  vanished— merged  into  the  blue  darkness.  By 
the  edge  of  the  ditch,  outside  the  walls,  supper  was 
cooked  and  eaten,  while  the  firelight  showed  the 
seated  forms  of  the  men  as  crisp  silhouettes,  and 
then  passed  on  to  redden  the  gray  adobe  walls. 

The  men  who  sat  around  the  fire  were  thoroughly 
contented  with  themselves.  They  were  chasing  a 
gang  of  outlaws,  and  at  the  end  of  the  chase  there 
would  probably  be  a  fight  j  therefore  the  occasion  was 
a  joyous  one.  They  had  fallen  into  that  state  of  genial 
silence  which  accompanies  well-fed  contentment.  The 
conversation  was  confined  chiefly  to  monosyllabic 
grunts,  with  long  intervals  between  them. 

"What's  wrong  with  the  people  of  this  place?" 
asked  the  gambler  of  the  deputy  sheriff,  who  headed 
the  men  from  the  camp.  "  Macklin  told  me  that  you 
were  suspicious  of  them.  Is  it  because  they're— well- 
queer,  you  know?" 

"No,  I  reckon  not,"  replied  the  person  addressed, 
118 


Tizzard  Castle 

removing  his  pipe  from  the  thick  beard  that  concealed 
his  mouth.  "  She's  sure  locoed  an'  he's  more  'r  less  of 
er  fool,  but  that  don't  interfere  nohow  with  him  keepin' 
an  awful  bad  lot  er  men  hangin'  roun'  the  joint. 
Ther's  be'n  hold-ups— little  ones,  mos'ly,  that  didn't 
make  much  talk— that  comes  back  pretty  close  to 
them  men,  an7  ther7  ain't  much  doubt  but  what  Tizzard 
stan's  in  with  the  thieves, if  he  ain't  the  boss  erthe  gang. 
They're  sure  the  men  what  held  you  fellers  up  to-day." 

As  the  officer  was  speaking  there  was  a  soft  move 
ment  in  the  entrance  to  the  castle.  Then  the  windlass 
screamed  as  it  unwound  and  let  the  portcullis  fall. 
The  ropes  of  the  drawbridge  strained  and  tightened, 
but  before  it  could  rise  the  gambler  jumped  on  it. 
Macklin  and  the  deputy  sheriff  followed,  and  then  the 
rest  of  the  men. 

"  Lift  this  here  gate  !  "  roared  the  deputy. 

As  many  men  as  could  stand  on  the  sill  caught  hold 
of  the  lower  bar. 

"  Heave ! " 

Every  man  put  forth  all  the  strength  that  lay  in  the 
muscles  of  his  back.  Through  the  grating  the  gam 
bler  caught  sight  of  Lady  Tizzard.  She  was  reaching 
high  above  her  head  in  an  effort  to  thrust  home  a  pin 
that  fastened  down  the  sliding  gate.  The  men  tugged 
with  all  their  might,  but  it  was  back-breaking  work. 
The  portcullis  grated  in  its  grooves,  then  slowly  raised 
in  little  jerks.  The  gambler  and  Macklin  threw  them 
selves  flat  on  their  faces,  and  wriggled  under.  Then 
the  overstrained  backs  could  stand  the  effort  no  longer, 
and  the  portcullis  fell. 

119 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  gambler  ran  to  the  windlass,  but  the  woman 
was  there  before  him.  She  drew  a  knife  from  her 
bosom  and,  as  he  came  within  reach,  struck  at  him 
savagely.  Macklin  pinioned  her  arms,  and  lifted  her 
aside  as  though  she  were  a  child.  The  gambler  raised 
the  gate  slowly  from  its  sill.  As  soon  as  it  had  risen 
a  foot  or  two,  the  other  men,  stooping  low,  ran  under 
it  and  caught  hold  of  the  windlass-crank. 

"  Bring  in  them  horses,  you  fellers,"  commanded  the 
deputy  sheriff.  "Then  come  in  yourselves  an'  let 
down  the  gate  an'  h'ist  them  there  planks.  Nobody 
ain't  go'n'  ter  get  in  here  to-night  'ithout  we  know  who 
he  is.  What  was  you  tryin'  ter  do,  marm,  anyhow  ? " 
he  added,  turning  to  the  woman. 

She  had  been  struggling  silently  in  Macklin's  arms, 
trying  to  reach  him  with  her  knife.  Finally  the  knife 
fell  from  her  hand.  She  gave  a  little  scream,  and  be 
came  passive.  Macklin  stepped  on  the  frail  blade  as 
it  lay  at  his  feet,  and  snapped  it  close  to  the  haft. 
With  a  side- jerk  of  his  foot  he  sent  it  through  the 
open  gate,  and  then  set  the  woman  at  liberty. 

"  What  was  you  tryin'  ter  do  ? "  asked  the  deputy 
sheriff  again. 

The  woman  arranged  her  ruffled  draperies,  straight 
ened  herself  up,  and  glanced  haughtily  around  her. 

"You  have  violated  the  rules  of  hospitality,"  she 
said.  "You  were  plotting  treachery  against  your 
host,  speaking  with  slanderous  tongues  against  him, 
and  accusing  him  of  monstrous  deeds.  You  were  pre 
paring  to  undo  him  who  took  you  in  when  you  were 
sore  beset  on  yonder  plain.  Had  I  once  secured  the 

120 


Tizzard  Castle 

gate,  you  would  have  remained  without,  methinks,  for 
you  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  effect  an  entrance 
against  the  will  of  those  who  were  within.  But  now 
you  are  here.  Work  your  will  with  us,  for  we  have 
no  means  of  resistance,  and  therefore  we  submit." 

As  she  finished  speaking,  she  turned  and  left  them, 
retiring  to  a  room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  passage 
from  that  in  which  the  messenger  had  been  laid.  Ten 
minutes  later,  as  the  gambler  was  passing  the  window 
of  this  room,  he  glanced  inside.  A  fire  burned  on 
the  hearth,  throwing  wavering  shadows  on  the  clay 
floor.  On  one  side  of  the  fire  Frog  Tizzard  was 
huddled  in  a  motionless  heap.  On  the  other  side  his 
wife  sat  reading  one  of  her  well-thumbed  pamphlets. 
Now  and  then  she  would  wave  her  hand  in  uncon 
scious  gesticulation.  Every  trace  of  her  recent  annoy 
ance  had  vanished  j  the  only  expression  on  her  nervous 
face  was  one  of  intense  interest  in  what  she  saw  on  the 
printed  page  before  her. 

As  the  gambler  turned  away  from  the  window,  the 
men  had  closed  the  entrance  to  the  castle  and  were 
attending  to  their  horses.  Some  of  them  were  already 
lying,  their  heads  pillowed  on  their  saddles,  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  the  walls. 

"  Reckon  you'd  better  turn  in,  now,  an'  get  some 
sleep,"  said  the  deputy  sheriff,  crossing  the  courtyard. 
"There  ain't  nothin'  you  c'n  do.  The  doctor  he's 
had  his  supper,  an'  he  says  that  the  man  what's  hurt 
is  sure  doin'  as  well  as  he  knows  how.  Got  sunth'n' 
more'n  an  even  chance,  the  doc  says,  an'  do'  want 
nothin'  fer  now  but  ter  be  kep'  still.  Some  er  the 

121 


Sand  and  Cactus 

boys,  here,  are  goin'  to  keep  watch  an'  let  in  the  rest 
er  the  gang  what's  out  after  them  thieves.  They'll 
bring  'em  here  if  they  ketch  'em  alive,  an'  if  they 
don't  ketch  7em  they'll  come  theirselves,  so's  ter  get  a 
start  by  sun-up  in  the  mornin'.  You  go  ter  roost." 

The  advice  was  good.  The  gambler  was  surprised 
at  the  degree  of  fatigue  brought  by  the  anxious  day 
that  he  had  passed.  He  threw  himself  down  on  one 
of  the  piles  of  skins  in  the  room  where  the  wounded 
messenger  lay,  and  in  three  minutes  was  sleeping  the 
deep  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

Once  during  the  night  he  was  partially  awakened 
by  the  creak  of  the  windlass  as  it  raised  the  portcul 
lis,  and  the  bang  of  the  drawbridge  as  it  fell.  Then 
followed  the  tramp  of  hoofs  and  the  sound  of 
men's  voices  that  blended  themselves  together  in  a 
sort  of  meaningless  dream  as  the  gambler  slept  once 
more. 

Then— in  a  few  minutes,  it  seemed  to  him— some 
one  was  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"  It's  me,"  whispered  Macklin's  voice.  "  Come  up 
ohter  the  wall.  Tuspon  he's  up  there,  an'  the  depitty. 
The  depitty  wants  you.  There's  sunth'n'  go'n'  on." 

The  gambler  followed  him  out  of  the  room.  .  By  the 
light  of  a  smoky  lantern  that  hung  on  the  wall,  he 
could  see  that  the  wounded  man  was  resting  quietly. 
The  doctor  was  sleeping  on  the  floor  beside  him. 

Followed  by  the  gambler,  Macklin  led  the  way  up 
the  ladder  on  to  the  wall,  and  then  ran  along  the  top, 
stooping  low  so  that  the  parapet  would  conceal  them 
from  any  one  outside.  The  gambler  almost  stumbled 

122 


Tizzard  Castle 

over  the  legs  of  a  man  who  knelt  against  the  parapet. 
It  was  the  deputy. 

"See?"  he  whispered,  pointing  through  one  of  the 
openings  in  the  top  of  the  castellated  parapet. 

The  gambler  peered  through.  A  lantern  was  stand 
ing  on  the  ground  a  few  yards  from  the  wall,  and  in 
the  circle  of  light  that  it  shed,  Frog  Tizzard  was 
busily  digging  into  the  loose  sand  of  the  desert. 

"He's  been  at  that  ten  minutes  er  more,"  whis 
pered  the  deputy.  "  He  lowered  another  ladder  out 
side  the  wall,  an'  got  down  on  that.  I  was  a-watchin' 
up  here  myself,  under  the  shadder,  where  he  couldn' 
see  me.  I  got  him  covered  all  right.  He  can't  get 
away,  nohow." 

l>  What's  he  doing,  anyway  ? "  inquired  the  gambler. 

"  I  d'  know,  but  he's  sure  doin'  sunth'n'— he's  there, 
ain't  he  ? "  returned  Macklin. 

"  Sh-h !  "  said  the  deputy. 

Tizzard  had  finished  his  excavation.  Sticking  his 
spade  in  the  pile  of  sand  by  the  side  of  the  hole,  he 
turned  and  came  toward  the  wall.  Macklin  made  a 
movement  as  though  he  would  start  in  pursuit;  but 
the  deputy  stopped  him,  saying :  "  He's  left  the  lan 
tern—he'll  go  back.  Hoi'  on." 

Leaning  over  the  wall,  the  three  men  looked  down. 
Though  the  east  was  brightening  with  the  coming 
sunrise,  there  was  still  so  little  light  that  Tizzard's 
figure  showed  only  as  a  blot  somewhat  darker  than 
the  shadow  of  the  walls.  From  the  sounds  they  could 
tell  that  he  was  trying  to  drag  something  toward  the 
hole  he  had  made— something  that  was  heavy  and  that 

123 


Sand  and  Cactus 

yielded  slowly.  Little  by  little  it  moved,  until  one 
could  see  that  it  was  a  chest  of  some  kind.  As  he 
dragged  the  chest,  Tizzard  was  between  it  and  the 
lantern,  so  that  it  was  not  until  he  stood  aside  that 
the  light  gleamed  on  the  black  frame  and  dark-green 
panels  of  an  express-safe. 

The  deputy  sheriff  and  the  gambler  ran  around  the 
wall  toward  the  ladder  by  which  Tizzard  had  de 
scended,  while  Macklin  and  Tuspon  rose  to  their  feet 
and  levelled  their  rifles.  Tizzard  looked  up  and  saw 
them.  Throwing  the  lantern  against  the  iron  chest, 
smashing  the  globe  and  extinguishing  the  light,  he 
started  to  run ;  but  the  breaking  day  made  his  move 
ments  visible,  though  dimly  so. 

"  Stop !  "  roared  Macklin. 

Tizzard  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  the  com 
mand.  A  rifle-shot  followed  it.  The  man  ran  still 
faster,  and  for  a  time  the  Winchesters  crackled  fiercely 
from  the  top  of  the  wall.  At  the  foot  of  the  ladder 
the  shadow  of  the  wall  was  streaked  with  red  by  the 
flashes  from  the  deputy's  pistol.  From  where  he 
stood,  on  the  rung  of  the  ladder,  the  gambler  leaped 
over  the  officer's  head,  staggered  as  he  struck  the 
sand,  recovered  himself,  and  started  in  swift  pursuit 
of  Tizzard's  retreating  form.  He  rapidly  overhauled 
his  man.  Tizzard's  heavy  footsteps  were  becoming 
irregular,  and  the  gambler  could  hear  that  his  breath 
was  drawn  in  the  short  gasps  of  one  unaccustomed  to 
running.  A  couple  of  men,  roused  by  the  shots,  had 
hastily  mounted  their  unsaddled  horses  and  were 
riding  in  a  circuit  in  an  attempt  to  intercept  the 

I24 


Tizzard  Castle     , 

fugitive.  Suddenly  Tizzard  doubled,  returning  to  his 
starting-point  as  a  coursed  rabbit  returns,  and  ran 
into  the  arms  of  a  party  just  coming  to  join  in  the 
chase. 

He  made  no  resistance.  Walking  between  two 
men,  with  others  preceding  and  following,  they 
brought  him  to  the  place  where  the  abandoned  stage 
stood,  near  the  drawbridge.  The  deputy  was  there 
to  receive  them. 

A  dozen  voices  inquired  as  to  the  cause  of  the  chase. 
Macklin  and  three  others  brought  the  safe,  by  way  of 
answer,  and  laid  it  at  the  deputy's  feet.  What  fol 
lowed  was  of  the  nature  of  a  trial.  It  was  very  brief. 
There  was  but  one  conclusion  to  which  the  men  could 
come,  and  one  penalty  to  which  they  could  sentence 
the  accused.  In  a  few  minutes,  therefore,  the  pro 
ceedings  were  finished  as  they  had  been  carried  on : 
finished  with  shouts  and  oaths  and  reference  to  the 
wounded  messenger  and  the  driver,  whose  unburied 
body  still  lay  in  the  house  of  the  man  they  believed  to 
have  been  instrumental  in  causing  his  death. 

Taking  the  hair  neck-rope  from  one  of  the  horses, 
they  bound  Tizzard's  hands  with  it.  A  lariat  was 
reeved  through  the  lead-ring  on  the  tongue  of  the 
stage,  after  which  the  tongue  was  lifted  and  propped 
with  the  doubletree. 

The  loop  of  the  lariat  was  placed  around  Tizzard's 
neck,  and  several  men  grasped  the  loose  end.  For 
the  moment  there  was  a  hush  of  expectation ;  then  the 
deputy  stepped  forward. 

"  Is  ther*  anythin'  ye'd  like  ter  say  before  yer  go  ? " 

125 


Sand  and  Cactus 

he  asked.  "  Any  little  thing  that  wants  ter  be  'tended 
to  ?  I'll  do  what  I  can,  but  ye'd  best  speak  up.  You 
likely  won't  have  no  other  chance." 

Tizzard  looked  down  at  his  feet  and  made  no  reply, 
but  there  was  a  moment  during  which  they  all  waited 
for  one. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  swish  of  draperies,  and  the 
voice  of  Lady  Tizzard  broke  the  pause. 

"  What  now,  ye  hounds !  n  she  exclaimed.  "  Which 
of  you  has  dared  lay  violent  hands  on  your  host? 
And  you  so  many,  he  but  one." 

The  men  turned  and  saw  the  woman  crossing  the 
drawbridge.  She  was  walking  slowly,  with  long 
strides  and  a  pause  after  each  stride.  There  was  an 
expression  of  grave  displeasure  on  her  face,  but  it  was 
self -satisfied  displeasure,  as  though  she  rejoiced  in  the 
opportunity  of  showing  it. 

The  men  shifted  their  positions  and  looked  uncom 
fortable.  Catching  the  woman's  arm,  the  gambler 
tried  to  lead  her  away;  but  she  waved  him  impe 
riously  aside.  Tizzard  glanced  at  her  once,  then 
dropped  his  eyes. 

"  Would  ye  condemn  him  to  the  death  of  a  dog  ? " 
she  went  on.  "Surely  ye  could  mete  to  him  some 
end  more  fitting  our  rank— he  is  lord  of  all  the  land 
ye  see.  If  it  is  ransom  that  you  require,  it  shall  be 
yours— the  ransom  of  a  prince— all  our  treasure  and 
my  jewels." 

Once  more  the  gambler  tried  to  lead  her  away. 
The  deputy  also  approached,  saying :  "  Ther'  ain't  no 
sort  er  use  in  you  bein'  here,  marm,  not  the  leas'  in 

126 


Tizzard  Castle 

the  worl'.  Ye  see,  it's  outer  my  ban's,— it's  onten  the 
han's  of  all  of  us,— an'  no  money  ain't  go'n'  ter  do  no 
good.  You  better  go  with  that  ther'  gentleman." 

A  little  murmur  of  sympathy  came  from  the  men, 
and  one  of  them  said  aloud :  "  He'd  orter  'a'  be'n  took 
off  fm  here  som'w'er's.  It's  noways  her  fault;  she 
ain't  jus'  right,  and  hadn't  nothin'  ter  do  with  it  all 
—not  knowin'ly,  anyhow.  It's  a  dead  shame." 

Tizzard,  who  had  been  standing  with  his  eyes  turned 
toward  the  ground,  suddenly  raised  his  head.  He 
stood  more  firmly,  and  the  drooping  corners  of  his 
mouth  straightened  themselves.  His  protruding  eyes 
glanced  around  the  circle  of  men  that  surrounded  him, 
resting  on  one  face  after  another.  He  gulped  down 
something  that  was  apparently  sticking  in  his  throat, 
and  with  an  effort  that  was  almost  painful,  he  spoke. 

"  Look-a  yere,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  harsh,  as 
though  rusted  from  disuse.  "  One  er  you  fellers  was 
askin'  me  if  I  wanted  ter  say  anythin',  an'  I  didn't 
then,  but  now  I  do."  He  paused  and  gulped  again, 
looking  down  at  his  hands  as  they  were  tied  in  front 
of  him,  and  opening  and  closing  them  once  or  twice 
in  a  helpless  sort  of  way,  and  then  went  on : 

"It  ain't  no  good  fer  me  ter  say  that  you  got  me 
where  I  don't  belong,  not  this  time  anyhow,  fer  you 
wouldn'  believe  me.  I  know  I  got  ter  hang,  an'  the 
sooner  the  quicker.  It's  her,  there,  I  wanter  say  my 
piece  about,  so  you  ducks  let  me  alone  till  I  get 
through,  an'  then  yer  can  hang  me  and  be  damned. 

"She  ain't  done  nothin',  an'  she's  a  woman  what 
wants  somebody  ter  look  out  fer  her.  She  ain't  no 

127 


Sand  and  Cactus 

fool,  but  her  kinder  brains  ain't  the  sort  what  goes 
roun'  here— not  in  the  little  things,  that  is.  Other 
ways  she's  all  right.  The  way  the  house  is  fixed  up, 
so's  no  one  can't  get  in,  that's  her  doin';  an'  ther 
couldn't  no  one  have  got  in,  not  one  er  you,  if  she 
hadn't  made  me  pull  up  that  ther'  portcullis  thing." 

He  spoke  more  rapidly  now,  eager,  apparently,  to  see 
that  full  justice  was  done  to  the  mental  powers  of  the 
woman  he  was  trying  to  defend.  The  men  were  silent, 
except  when  some  one  said  in  an  undertone :  "  Firs' 
time  he  ever  said  three  words  together  when  I  was 
roun'." 

"Sh-h,"  said  some  one  else;  and  then  the  pause 
was  unbroken  until  Tizzard  resumed  his  speech : 

"Say,  here's  this:  she's  been  dead  white  all  she 
knowed,  alwuz.  It  don't  hurt  no  one,  does  it,  if  she 
wants  er  flag  flyin'  when  I'm  in  the  shebang,  an'  wants 
ter  pull  it  down  when  I  go  out  ?  Never  min'  what  I 
done ;  that  don't  cut  no  figger  now,  an'  I'm  go'n'  ter 
pay  up  fer  what  you  think  I  done— pay  up  all  I  got, 
an'  no  man  can't  do  no  more  than  that. 

"  I  heard  some  er  you  a-sayin'  that  ther'  was  a  tough 
gang  what  hangs  roun'  here.  Let  it  go  at  that. 
What  I  wanter  say  is  that  she  ain't  got  nothin'  ter  do 
with  none  of  'em.  She  calls  'em  all  retainers  er  mine ; 
thinks  they're  a  little  private  army,  like,  what  I  keep 
fer  to  see  that  things  don't  go  wrong  roun'  this  yer 
manor,  or  domain— that's  the  land  what  I  got  roun' 
here,  an'  most  er  the  desert  what  she  thinks  I  got. 
She  ain't  locoed,  like  what  you  think,  not  er  little  bit. 
She's  edj  created,  that's  all.  All  the  time  she's  readin' 

128 


Tizzard  Castle 

them  books  what  I  sen'  fer  down  to  Tucson.  All  the 
time  she's  readin'  'em ;  an'  nights,  when  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  else  ter  'ten'  to,  she'll  read  'em  ter  me,  so's  I'll 
know  how  ter  do  like  the  men  in  them  books  they 
did.  But  I  ain't  much  on  their  lay— never  was ;  an' 
I  reckon  no  one  couldn't  wear  iron  clo'es,  not  in  this 
climate. 

"  She's  lots  too  good  fer  to  be  in  this  country,  here 
along  er  me,  an'  she's  too  good  ter  be  left  along  er 
you-all,  but  I  can't  help  myself.  So  I  want  one  er  you 
men,  if  so  be  ther'  is  one  square  an'  decent  ernough^ 
ter  say  that  she'll  be  treated  white  an'  right  till  she 
c'n  be  got  away  f'm  here  back  East,  where  she  come 
from.  I  want  one  er  you  ter  write  to  them  people 
back  East  an'  tell  'em  she's  comin' ;  an'  then  see  that 
she's  put  on  the  cars  an'  started— ther's  money  enough 
fer  that.  Then  I  want  this  here  place  an'  the  cattle 
sold,  an'  the  money  sent  ter  them  folks  in  the  East. 
Is  ther'  some  one  what'll  do  this  ? " 

Tizzard  looked  eagerly,  first  at  the  deputy,  then  at 
the  gambler. 

"  I  know  she  struck  at  you  with  a  knife  las'  night," 
he  went  on,  addressing  the  gambler  directly.  "  That 
was  when  she  tried  ter  shut  you-all  out,  an'  she  tried 
ter  do  that  becuz  she  thought  you  was  a-sayin'  things 
erbout  me.  She's  stuck  by  me  through  all  hell,  an' 
that's  all  the  harm  she  ever  done.  Will  you  do  them 
things  what  I  spoke  of  1  I  can't  do  no  more  fer  'er 
now,  an'  you  c'n  pay  yerself  fer  the  job." 

Tizzard  stopped  speaking,  and  raising  his  pinioned 
arms,  wiped  his  forehead  on  his  shirt-sleeve.  Appar- 

129 


Sand  and  Cactus 

ently  the  speech  had  exhausted  him  even  more  than 
had  the  near  prospect  of  death,  for  his  face  was  as 
white  as  its  weather-beaten  skin  would  allow.  He 
dropped  his  arms  and  once  more  looked  at  the  gam 
bler. 

"  I  don't  want  any  pay,"  said  the  gambler.  "  I'll 
do  all  I  can." 

"  So'll  I,  dead  straight,"  added  the  deputy. 

Tizzard  looked  relieved. 

"  Go  inter  the  house  now,  honey,"  he  said,  speaking 
to  his  wife  for  the  first  time.  "  Take  'er  in !  "  he  added 
to  the  gambler.  "Take  'er  in  an'— an'  get  it  over, 
will  you  f " 

Both  the  gambler  and  the  deputy  turned  to  the 
woman,  who  stood  between  them.  She  dropped  a 
book  that  she  had  carried  with  her  from  the  house  j 
it  lay  at  her  feet,  and  a  little  breeze  was  fluttering  its 
pages.  She  was  bending  forward ;  her  hands  worked 
convulsively,  one  into  the  other. 

"I  fail  to  understand,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "I 
fail  to  understand." 

"  Ther*  ain't  no  call  that  you  should  understand,  not 
right  now,"  said  the  deputy,  soothingly,  as  one  might 
speak  to  a  child.  "  Come  on  inter  the  house,  here,  like 
he  tol'  yer  to.  Here's  yer  little  book." 

He  picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  her,  but  she  did 
not  seem  to  see  or  hear  him. 

"  Surely  you  would  not  murder  a  man  !  "  she  cried. 
"Release  him  !  Let  him  go— let  him  come  with  me. 
There  is  ransom.  You  can  have  all  there  is— I  ask 
only  for  his  life." 

130 


Tizzard  Castle 

Once  more  the  gambler  tried  to  lead  her  into  the 
house ;  but  she  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  forward, 
leaving  all  trace  of  her  feudalism  behind. 

"  Let  me  have  him,  oh,  let  me  have  him  !  He's  done 
you  no  harm—  he  hasn't  harmed  anybody.  That  box 
has  always  been  here.  It  belonged  to  us— I  thought 
it  belonged  to  us.  I  sent  him  out  there  last  night  to 
bury  it— I  was  afraid  some  one  would  find  it  and  my 
things  that  are  in  it.  Let  him  come  with  me.  He'll  go 
away— far  away,  and  I'll  go  with  him.  I'll  go  with 
him  anyway,  and  then  you'll  have  killed  two.  Let  me 
have  him— he's  all  I've—" 

With  an  unsteady  step  or  two,  she  fell  unconscious  on 
the  sand.  The  gambler  sprang  forward  to  raise  her. 

"Take  'er  inter  the  house,  quick,"  said  Tizzard, 
hoarsely,— "now,  before  she  comes  to,— an'  then  get 
it  over." 

He  turned  away  from  his  wife  and  stood  facing 
the  open  desert.  Lifting  the  woman  in  his  arms,  the 
gambler  carried  her  into  the  house.  There  was 
another  sympathetic  murmur  from  some  of  the  men. 
Macklin  stepped  quickly  forward. 

"  Look-a  yere,"  he  said  to  Tizzard,  roughly ;  "  what 
was  that  'bout  that  ther'  box— 'bout  you  findin'  it  out 
here  on  the  desert  som'w'er's— that  yer  woman  jus' 
said  ?  Was  it  straight  ? " 

"  Yep.  On  the  desert  I  found  it,  bu'sted  an'  empty, 
after  the  stage  was  held  up  two  year  ago.  Give  it  to 
her  to  put  stuff  in.  Open  it." 

There  was  no  trouble  in  opening  the  safe.  The  hasp 
was  broken,  and  it  was  fastened  only  with  a  stick. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  lid  was  thrown  back  and  the  contents  were  re 
vealed.  There  was  money  in  the  safe  —  money  in 
halves  and  quarters,  gold  pieces  and  a  few  stray  bills. 
There  was  jewelry  as  well— crowns  and  tiaras  of  cheap 
gilt,  pins  and  rings  and  bracelets  of  the  same  kind, 
all  of  them  set  with  sham  gems  that  glittered  bravely 
as  they  were  thrown  in  a  heap  on  the  sand.  They 
were  most  obviously  theatrical  jewels ;  even  the  men 
recognized  this  as  they  crowded  around  the  safe. 

"  Why  didn't  yer  tell  us  first  off  that  this  here  wasn't 
the  box  what  we  was  after?"  asked  the  deputy,  in 
dignantly. 

"  Called  me  a  liar  if  I  had,"  returned  Tizzard. 

"  That's  so,"  admitted  the  deputy. 

"That  money's  mine— an'  hern.  It's  what  we 
saved,"  Tizzard  volunteered  after  a  pause.  "She 
wanted  ter  keep  it  there  along  with  them— them  other 
things  er  hern.  Them  jewellery  things  belongs  to  her. 
I  got  'em  fer  her,  an'  she  likes  'em.  She  ain't  much  of 
er  judge  er  jewellery.  She's  got  er  notion  that  they're 
things  what  her  gran'daddies  had  f'om  away  back," 
he  went  on,  with  a  pitiful  smile  of  deprecation  at  the 
weakness  he  was  revealing.  "  It's  jus'  her  wray,  'count 
er  that  ther'  edj creation  er  hern.  It  don't  hurt  no 
body,"  he  hastened  to  add. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  after  he  had  finished. 
The  men  looked  uneasily  at  each  other,  shifting  their 
positions  or  suddenly  becoming  engrossed  in  nothing 
at  all.  Each  one  was  waiting  for  some  one  else  to 
make  the  first  move.  Finally  the  deputy  spoke. 

"  Say,  boys,  are  you  so  dead  sure  we  want  this  here 

132 


Tizzard  Castle 

man  so  bad  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  shamefaced  sort  of  way. 
"Ther*  don't  seem  ter  be  so  much  proved  on  him— 
now.  S'pose  you  take  his  word  that  he'll  pull  his 
freight,  an'  turn  'im  loose." 

"You  can  see  that  he  keeps  his  word  easily 
enough,"  added  the  gambler,  who  had  returned  from 
the  house.  "All  the  people  that  were  on  the  stage 
are  willing  to  let  it  go  that  way,  and  we're  the  suf 
ferers  by  the  hold-up  to-day.  There's  nothing  proved 
against  this  man— you've  got  nothing  against  him, 
more  than  you've  had  for  years  past.  Surely  it's 
hardly  a  square  deal  to  go  on  and  hang  a  man  just 
because  you've  begun  the  job  and  don't  want  to  leave 
it  unfinished.  Think  of  his  wife.  She  showed  us 
nothing  but  kindness— she  did  the  best  she  could. 
You'd  better  let  him  go." 

This  proposition  did  not  meet  with  universal  ap 
proval.  Many  of  the  men  were  in  favor  of  carrying 
out  the  sentence.  Each  faction  held  obstinately  to 
its  opinion.  From  arguments  more  or  less  orderly, 
the  debate  grew  warmer  and  louder,  until  the  air  was 
torn  with  strident  voices.  Suddenly  the  doctor  ap 
peared  in  the  drawbridge. 

"  Shut  up  that  noise,  can't  you  ? "  he  called,  raising 
his  hand  to  attract  attention.  "  Do  you  want  to  kill 
the  man  in  there— the  messenger?" 

There  was  silence  instantly,  and  the  doctor  went 
on  in  a  lower  tone  : 

"  This  noise  will  be  the  death  of  him  if  you  keep  it 
up.  What  are  you  doing  with  that  man  ? "  he  asked, 
looking  at  Tizzard. 

133 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  Hangin'  him/'  answered  some  one. 

"  What  for?" 

"You  know.  Bobbin'  the  stage  an'  shootin'  the 
messenger  an?  the  driver/'  growled  the  man  who  had 
spoken  before. 

"He  didn't  rob  the  stage— there  was  no  robbery." 

"  Where's  the  express-safe,  then  f " 

"In  a  trunk  on  the  boot.  I  thought  you  knew. 
The  messenger  put  it  there.  He  talked  about  it  when 
he  was  out  of  his  head,  awhile  back.  The  other  pack 
age  was  a  decoy,  I  suppose.  I  had  just  got  the  man 
quieted  when  you  roused  him  with  the  cursed  howling 
out  here.  I  don't  know  anything  about  who  did  the 
shooting,  but  if  you're  going  to  hang  any  one  for  it  I 
wish  you'd  do  it  somewhere  else  or  do  it  more  quietly, 
that's  all." 

Turning  back,  the  doctor  reentered  the  house. 

There  were  but  two  trunks  on  the  boot.  One  was 
identified  as  the  property  of  the  capitalist ;  the  other 
was  so  heavy  that  four  men  could  hardly  lift  it  down. 
Some  one  brought  an  ax  and  split  off  the  lid.  Inside 
there  was  a  something  wrapped  in  canvas.  Drawing 
a  knife,  Tuspon  slit  the  canvas,  revealing  the  missing 
safe  that  lay  beneath. 

"  I  reckon  that  settles  it,"  said  Macklin,  briskly,  as 
he  began  to  untie  the  knots  that  bound  Tizzard's  arms. 

"But  I  reckon  you  better  not  stay  roun'  here," 
added  the  deputy. 

Some  of  the  men  looked  at  each  other  rather  fool 
ishly  ;  some  of  them  growled  among  themselves ;  but 
no  one  offered  to  interfere  with  Macklin  as  he  strug- 


Tizzard  Castle 

gled  with  the  knots  in  the  hair  rope.  He  untied  them 
at  last,  and  tossed  the  rope  to  its  owner. 

Tizzard  threw  the  loop  from  his  neck.  He  stretched 
his  cramped  arms  and  chafed  his  wrists  as  he  looked 
stupidly  around  him. 

"Stay  here?"  he  said.  "Stay  here— with  her? 
Not  while  I  c'n  walk  an'  pack  her  with  me.  Sun- 
down'll  see  me  thirty  mile  f'om  here." 

Turning  toward  the  house,  Tizzard  lounged  across 
the  drawbridge  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  in 
which  his  wife  had  been  carried. 

The  gambler  watched  him  until  he  was  out  of  sight. 

"I  don't  see  that  there's  anything  for  us  to  stay 
for  now.  The  messenger's  in  good  hands,  and  there 
are  men  enough  to  do— all  there  is— for  the  driver," 
he  said,  turning  to  the  deputy.  "  You'll  come  along 
with  the  treasure,  I  suppose,  and  see  that  we  aren't 
held  up  again.  Perhaps  some  of  the  men  can  ride 
along,  too." 

By  way  of  an  answer,  the  deputy  pulled  away  the 
doubletree  that  had  been  propping  the  tongue  of  the 
stage.  Horses  were  quickly  harnessed.  The  deputy 
mounted  the  box,  the  others  climbed  to  their  places, 
and  the  stage  moved  away,  straining  up  the  little  rise 
down  which  it  had  come  the  day  before.  It  reached 
the  top  and  began  to  descend  on  the  other  side. 

"Theah's  the  wind-up,  I  reckon,"  said  Tuspon, 
pointing  backward  down  the  road. 

The  others  looked.  Over  the  top  of  the  sand-dune, 
only  the  castle  tower,  with  its  battlements  and  flag 
staff,  was  visible;  and  as  they  looked  the  flag  flut- 

135 


Sand  and  Cactus 

tered  down.  The  men  faced  ahead  again,  and  for  a 
time  no  one  spoke. 

"  I  bet  that  Tizzard  chap  was  in  that  gang,  just  the 
same,  and  knew  all  about  those  hold-ups,"  remarked 
the  capitalist,  at  last. 

The  gambler  and  the  deputy  nodded. 

Tuspon  looked  at  the  capitalist  in  mild  amazement. 

"  Why,  suah,"  he  said. 


136 


THE    MARTYRDOM  OF    JOHN    THE 
BAPTIST 


THE    MARTYRDOM    OF   JOHN    THE 
BAPTIST 


A  PRAIRIE  of  yellow  sand,  glaring  and  tremulous 
in  the  scorching  Arizona  sun,  reached  the  hori 
zon  on  three  of  the  cardinal  points  j  on  the  other, 
the  south,  extending  to  the  foot  of  the  Sierra  Tucson, 
which  showed,  outlining  its  rugged  shapes  in  dusky 
blue,  many  miles  away. 

From  north  to  south  a  trail,  showing  from  a  little 
distance  only  by  the  absence  of  the  sage-brush  and 
maguey  along  its  length,  or  by  the  clouds  of  dust 
which  the  little  whirlwinds,  wandering  aimlessly 
about,  would  pick  up  from  it,  began  in  dim  perspec 
tive,  culminating  in  a  little  oasis,  where,  set  in  its 
vivid  green,  the  gray  adobe  and  glaring,  unpainted 
frame  of  a  settlement  appeared;  then  running  with 
a  diminuendo  movement  toward  the  mountains, 
against  which  an  occasional  faint  wreath  of  smoke 
would  announce  the  coming  of  one  of  the  four  daily 
trains— a  passenger  and  a  freight  in  each  direction 
—of  the  then  newly  built  Southern  Pacific  road, 
where  the  little  box  of  a  station  with  its  still  smaller 
section-house  stood,  almost  pathetic  in  their  complete 
loneliness,  on  the  arid  plain. 

139 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Frog  Tanks  was  young,  scarcely  a  year  old,  its 
youth  replete  with  the  folly  and  wildness  of  its  habitat 
and  immaturity.  It  was  an  important  place,  and  one 
which  must  continue  to  thrive ;  for  the  springs  from 
which  its  name  was  taken  flowed,  clear  and  cool,  from 
their  four  big,  sandy  basins,  watering  the  juicy  grass 
which  extended  for  many  acres  around ;  and  so  the 
great  freight-teams,  plodding  along  the  burning  road 
in  endless  procession,  horses  and  men  parching  and 
faint  from  the  choking  clouds  of  alkali  dust  which 
overhung  them,  would  halt  here  for  a  rest,  sometimes 
of  a  week's  duration,  waiting  for  their  return  loads, 
while  the  horses  revelled  and  waxed  fat  on  the  strong 
grass  and  abundant  water,  and  their  masters  enjoyed, 
after  a  month's  enforced  abstinence,  the  dubious 
whiskey  and  seductive  faro.  The  great  treasure- 
wagons,  too,  with  their  numerous  guards  protecting 
the  loads  of  bullion  pigs,  would  pass  through  on  their 
way  to  the  station,  five  miles  beyond,  to  rest  awhile  on 
their  return  trip.  Emigrant  outfits,  with  their  lean 
horses,  prairie-schooners,  and  pale,  jaded-looking 
women,  ragged,  weather-beaten  prospectors,  their  en 
tire  worldly  possessions  loaded  on  one  or  two  tiny 
burros,  silent  gamblers,  swarthy  Mexicans,  wander 
ing  bands  of  Indians,  and  all  the  flotsam  and  jetsam 
of  frontier  humanity,  attracted  by  the  abundant  sup 
ply  of  what  is  in  that  region  the  rarest  luxury,  water, 
and,  incidentally,  by  that  most  desired,whiskey,  helped 
to  diversify  the  life  of  the  town  and  leave  much 
money  there. 

The  trail  became  gravelly  as  it  crossed  the  oasis, 
140 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

which  it  divided  into  two  nearly  equal  parts,  a  broad 
yellow  stripe  across  the  green,  and  along  both  sides  of 
this  the  bulk  of  the  town  was  ranged.  Two  adobe 
stores  stood  nearly  opposite  each  other  near  the  centre 
of  the  village,  and  each  way  from  them  ran  a  row  of 
the  more  popular  resorts,  overflowing  the  limits  of  the 
green  island  on  to  the  desert  beyond.  Of  these  all  had 
a  bar  in  front  and  an  extension  behind,  generally  of 
canvas  stretched  over  a  frame,  from  which,  in  some 
cases,  came  the  click  and  rattle  of  chips  and  the  dron 
ing  voices  of  the  dealers ;  in  others  the  sound  of  guitars 
and  fiddles,  or,  in  one  instance,  the  jangle  of  a  much- 
abused  piano,  told  where  the  dance-halls,  with  their 
painted  sirens,  held  forth.  Back  from  the  street, 
placed  in  the  order  that  best  suited  their  owners, 
stood  the  tents  or  arrow- weed  thatch  wickiups  of  the 
residence  portion,  interspersed  here  and  there  with 
drinking-shacks  of  the  humbler  sort,  where  fiery  mescal 
was  dispensed  at  a  price  within  reach  of  the  greasers 
who  patronized  them ;  then  strong  stock-corrals  of  cot- 
tonwood  poles,  pasture-land,  and,  beyond,  the  open 
desert. 

It  was  siesta-time,  and  so  Frog  Tanks  was  quiet, —for 
the  daily  trains  were  about  due,  and  those  who  had  not 
gone  to  meet  them  were,  for  the  most  part,  reposing 
each  in  his  own  dwelling,  or  what  answered  for  one,— 
when  a  group  of  the  residents  was  gathered  under  the 
thatched  veranda  of  the  principal  saloon,  the  Monte 
Carlo,  which  united  within  itself  the  triple  attraction 
of  "  boozing-ken,"  gambling-house,  and  dance-hall. 
With  one  exception,  they  were  all  men  who  worked 


Sand  and  Cactus 

hard  at  their  respective  callings  of  barkeeper,  gam 
bler,  or  the  like,  and  were  now,  through  the  heat  of 
the  day,  enjoying  that  companionable  silence  which 
comes  with  the  cessation  of  continued  labor.  The 
exception  was  a  swarthy  and  rather  handsome  man, 
aged  some  two-  or  three-and-f orty,  of  huge  frame,  lean 
and  powerful,  who  seemed  a  leader  among  them,  as, 
indeed,  he  was.  This  was  "  Faro  Carlo,"  King  of  Frog 
Tanks.  Few  monarchs  deserved  their  titles  as  did  he, 
for  he  ruled  his  dominions  not  only  by  his  strong  arm 
and  ever-ready  pistol,  but  by  right  of  ownership  as 
well.  Two  years  before  he  had  come,  a  gambler  fresh 
from  a  streak  of  hard  luck  and  a  record  of  many  lives, 
his  whole  fortune  consisting  in  his  weapons  and  the 
blooded  mare  he  rode,  from  the  cattle  towns  of  the 
West,  and  stopped  here  for  the  night,  as  many  had 
done  before.  The  engineer's  camp  he  had  passed  on 
his  way,  and  the  row  of  numbered  stakes  which  showed 
where  the  new  railway  was  to  run,  had  revealed  to  him 
the  possibilities  of  this  green  spot ;  and  so,  the  neces 
sary  formalities  having  been  gone  through  with,  he 
had  become  the  proprietor  of  six  hundred  and  forty 
acres  of  what  our  government  is  pleased  to  consider 
as  desert  land.  It  was  hard  living  at  first,  but  game 
was  plenty  around  the  springs,  and  when  the  rail 
way  was  finished,  as  he  steadily  refused  to  sell  any 
land,  the  ground-rents,  together  with  the  revenue 
from  his  store  and  saloon,  brought  a  greater  income 
than  he  had  ever  dared  hope  for ;  and  now,  as  he  sat, 
his  chair  tilted  back  against  one  of  the  few  cotton- 
wood-trees  of  which  Frog  Tanks  could  boast,  his 

142 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

ornate  dress,  heavy  silver-mounted  pistols  and  spurs, 
and  whole  bearing  indicated  the  prosperous  man. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  coming  down  the  gravelly 
road  made  some  of  the  men  lazily  turn  their  heads 
from  where  they  lounged  or  lay  on  the  grass.  But  it 
was  only  a  cow-boy,  known  to  them  all,  returning 
from  seeing  that  the  bunch  of  cattle  he  had  brought 
in  that  day  were  safe  in  their  corrals,  so  they  returned 
to  their  former  occupation  of  silently  fighting  the  flies 
which  buzzed  in  swarms  around  them.  The  new 
comer,  with  a  grunt  of  salutation,  seated  himself,  and 
extracting  from  the  pocket  of  his  leather  chapparejos 
a  bag  of  tobacco  and  a  bundle  of  slips  of  brown  paper, 
proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette,  bending  it  almost  double 
and  holding  it  at  arm's-length,  Mexican  fashion,  as  he 
lighted  it,  saying :  "  I  see  John  the  Baptist's  outfit  is 
over  beyond  thar ;  has  he  held  forth  yet  ? " 

"John— who?  eh?  What  did  you  say  his  other 
name  was?  Who's  he?"  said  a  little  man,  nervous 
and  wiry,  Billy  Perrin  by  name,  the  town  marshal  and 
Carlo's  right-hand  man,  roused  into  a  momentary 
show  of  interest. 

"  Hasn't  got  no  other  name  that  I  ever  heard.  Just 
calls  himself  what  I  said— John  the  Baptist  of  the 
Second  Comin'.  Surely  you've  heard  tell  of  him." 

"  I  have.  Sunday-school.  Back  East.  Must  be  an 
old  man  by  now,"  came  from  under  the  hat  which 
covered  the  face  of  a  gambler— a  faro-dealer  of  the 
Monte  Carlo— who  lay  at  full  length  hard  by,  until 
now  apparently  asleep. 

"  That  ain't  no  kin  to  this  one,"  responded  the  cow- 

»43 


Sand  and  Cactus 

boy.  "  I  saw  him  when  I  was  herding  for  the  Cross 
bow  outfit  up  Palomas  way.  Comes  from  Lord  knows 
where,— nobody  else  does,  anyhow,— an'  he  preached. 
Preached  every  chance  he  got  j  an'  he's  no  slouch  at  it, 
you  bet,  but  his  prophesyin'  is  what  licks  me." 

"What  did  he  prophesy  about,  Sammy?"  asked 
the  gambler,  sitting  up. 

"Oh,  everything  pretty  near.  Day  o'  judgment, 
world  burnin'  up,  and  general  damnation,  mostly. 
But  that  didn't  cut  no  figger,  though  he  could  do  it 
up  slick.  It  was  the  particular  ones.  There  was  some- 
thin'  out  of  the  run  in  them.  You  mind  that  carrot- 
topped  chaw  what  used  to  fire  the  stamp-engine  up 
to  the  Nigger  Ben,  don't  you?  Andy  McGuirk  his 
name  was." 

A  nod  of  assent,  and  he  went  on : 

"  Well,  about  a  week  ago  the  Baptist  had  a  meetin', 
an'  fired  off  his  texts  an'  prophecies  an'  things  to  beat 
the  cars.  McGuirk  was  there,  an'  I  s'pose  he  got  tired 
of  bein'  told  how  dead  sure  he  was  to  go  to  hell,  for 
up  he  jumps  onto  the  bar'l  he'd  been  sittin'  on,  an' 
pulls  a  flask  out  of  the  back-stairs  pocket  of  his  jeans, 
an'  sings  out,  'Here's  lookin'  at  ye,  Johnny,  an'  may  yez 
never  go  to  a  worser  place  than  meself .'  Some  of  them 
laughed,— I  was  there,  I  seen  it  all,— but  the  Baptist 
pulled  his  sermon  up  short,  an'  stretched  out  one  hand 
toward  McGuirk,  an'  just  stood  there.  His  face  was 
white,  an'  pulled  itself  about  at  first,  an'  then  got  quiet 
and  looked  like  he  was  a  drowned  man.  There  wasn't 
no  noise  for  a  while,  an'  Mac  he  got  down  off  the  bar'l 
an'  kinder  sneaked  the  flask  back  into  his  pocket. 

144 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

Then  John  the  Baptist  turned  loose,  an'  talked  like 
some  one  had  wound  him  up.  I  couldn't  get  on  to  all 
he  said,  but  it  meant  that  it  wouldn't  be  long  before 
McGuirk  would  cash  his  chips.  The  death  angel  had 
branded  him,  an'  soon  the  leaden  messenger  would,  at 
his  say-so,  round  up  the  blackened  soul  worthily  placed 
in  the  vile  body  before  him.  That's  what  he  said— some 
thing  like  that,  anyhow,  an'  a  lot  more  about  how  high 
the  thermometer  would  climb  where  Andy  would  fetch 
up.  It  wasn't  complimentary,  no  way  you  could  fix 
it,  but  McGuirk  went  out  like  somebody'd  licked  him. 
Well,  sir,  all  he  said  come  true.  Mac  was  dead  leery 
of  himself  for  a  while,  an'  then  began  to  booze  up,  an' 
bimeby  got  fightin'  drunk.  He  had  it  in  for  Hughes, 
who  runs  the  faro-bank  down  to  the  Cactus  Cottage,  on 
some  old  grudge,  an'  went  in  there  to  settle  it.  He 
had  the  drop  all  right  enough,— had  his  gun  drawed  be 
fore  he  went  in,— but  before  he  could  shoot,  Hughes 
nailed  him  with  a  derringer,  fired  through  his  pants. 
Yes,  sir ;  laid  him  out  cold  an'  stiff.  First  man  shot 
there  in  three  months.  Next  mornin'  John's  outfit 
had  gone,  nobody  knew  where ;  but,  I  tell  you,  he's  a 
corker  on  the  prophesy.  I'd  rather  any  man  in  the 
Territory  had  it  in  for  me  than  him." 

The  speaker  stopped.  His  cigarette  was  done,  and 
he  rolled  another. 

"  That  was  queer,"  said  the  gambler ;  "  but  I  don't 
see  what  the  angel  of  death  had  to  do  with  it. 
Angels  aren't  much  in  Jack  Hughes's  line,  unless  he's 
changed  a  good  deal  since  I  saw  him  last.  Where  is 
this  John  the  Baptist,  as  you  call  him,  Sammy  ? " 

145 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"I  seen  *m,"  said  Perrin,  in  his  nervous  manner. 
"  Thin  -as  a  knife,  eh  ?  Ghosts  of  mules  an'  played-out 
wagon,  no  ?  Old  A  tent— just  enough  canvas  to  keep 
holes  together  ;  ain't  that  it  ?  Let's  go  have  a  look  at 
?em.  What  say,  King  ? " 

Carlo  nodded  as  he  slowly  arose  and,  stretching 
himself,  put  on  his  hat.  "Ain't  goin'  to  have  no  such 
foolishness  as  prophesyin'  men  to  death  around  here," 
he  said.  "  Pull  on,  Sam." 

"John  the  Baptist  of  Second  Comin',  eh?  'Bout 
time  for  second  goin',  no  ? "  put  in  Perrin,  cheerfully, 
as,  led  by  the  cow-boy,  they  filed  away  from  the  one 
street  along  a  well-worn  foot-path  which  led  toward 
the  western  boundary  of  the  oasis.  Along  through  the 
groups  of  tents  and  shacks  it  ran,  passing  in  its 
course  the  court-house,  standing  on  the  one  little 
eminence  of  the  town.  Consisting  as  it  did  only  of 
a  board  floor  sheltered  by  a  pillar-supported  roof  of 
redwood  "  shakes,"  the  criticism  of  a  pert  young  lieu 
tenant  of  cavalry,  who  had  once  seen  it,  that  it  "  looked 
like  a  split  between  a  Coney  Island  dance-hall  and  the 
Parthenon,"  was  more  or  less  justified ;  but  it  was  the 
only  building  of  its  kind  in  many  miles,  and  Frog 
Tanks  pointed  to  it  with  pride.  Past  the  corrals,  now 
filled  with  wiry-looking  cattle,  they  went,  to  a  spot 
in  the  pasture-land  where,  away  from  the  frequented 
parts,  a  little  camp  was  placed.  At  one  side,  crouch 
ing  over  a  small  fire  on  which  something  was  simmer 
ing  in  a  battered  tin  pail,  were  two  women,  clad  in 
scanty  gowns  and  sunbonnets  of  calico.  They  bore 
a  close  resemblance  one  to  the  other,  and  were  prob- 

146 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

ably  mother  and  daughter,  but  both  had  that  gaunt 
and  indescribably  aged  appearance  brought  by  hard 
ship  and  poor  food.  The  elder  wore  two  rings,  look 
ing  strangely  in  contrast  to  her  faded  gown,  one  of 
plain  gold ;  the  other,  guarding  it,  flashed,  when  she 
moved  her  left  hand,  with  a  brilliant  stone  of  some 
kind. 

With  its  back  to  the  desert  stood  the  little  tent, 
much  as  Perrin  described  it,  and  close  beside  it  was 
the  family  wagon.  It  had  been  a  light  spring  "  demo 
crat,"  but  the  springs  were  gone  now,  and  the  frail 
body  rested  directly  on  the  rickety  axletrees.  It  was  a 
very  skeleton  of  a  wagon,  but  looked  all  too  heavy 
a  load  for  the  two  emaciated  mules  whose  rope-patched 
harness  hung  ove?  its  tongue,  and  who  were  now 
greedily  filling  their  lank  hides  with  the  rich  grass. 

In  front  of  the  tent  a  man  was  pacing  rapidly  to 
and  fro.  He  was  enormously  tall  j  his  hair,  long  and 
grizzled,  hung  in  matted  locks  around  his  lean  face, 
mingling  with  the  untrimmed  beard  which  rested  on 
his  hollow  chest.  Dressed  only  in  a  shirt  and  a  pair 
of  faded  overalls,  his  head  and  feet  bare,  he  was  walk 
ing  with  rapid,  nervous  steps,  muttering  in  an  under 
tone,  and  now  and  then  throwing  out  his  arms  in 
frenzied  gesture. 

The  gambler  took  in  everything  at  a  glance,  his  eye 
resting  for  a  second  on  the  two  women,  then  turned 
on  his  heel  and  returned  in  the  direction  from  which 
he  had  come.  The  rest  stood  gazing  for  some  min 
utes,  apparently  unseen  by  those  before  them ;  then 
King  Carlo  strode  forward,  followed  by  his  henchmen. 

*47 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  restless  figure  saw  them  then,  and  stepping 
quickly  up  to  the  great  man,  bowed,  and  said  in  a  deep 
and  not  unmusical  voice :  "  I  believe  I  am  speaking  to 
the  chief  officer  of  this  town  ?  "  It  was  a  question,  and 
he  paused  for  a  reply,  but  receiving  none,  went  on : 
"I  am  an  unworthy  disciple  of  the  Most  High— the 
John  the  Baptist  of  the  Second  Coming,  whose  mission 
it  is  to  declare  unto  all  men  the  sacred  message  in 
trusted  to  his  charge.  The  building  I  see  yonder  is 
apparently  adapted  for  public  assemblage,  and  I  have 
to  request  the  privilege  of  using  it,  during  the  next 
few  evenings,  for  my  holy  work.  Have  I  your  per 
mission  ? n 

The  monarch  looked  at  the  weird  form  for  an  in 
stant,  then  nodded  shortly,  and  walked  rapidly  away, 
his  satellites  following. 

"  How's  that,  King  ?  how's  that,  eh  ?  Thought  he'd 
have  to  git,  no?  Prophesy  in'— get  tin'  men  shot,  eh? 
How's  that?" 

Perrin  trotted  along  beside  his  big  patron  until  his 
ceaseless  buzz  broke  through  even  the  great  man's 
habitual  taciturnity,  as  that  of  a  mosquito  might. 
"  Thought  they  looked  like  they  needed  a  collection," 
he  growled.  "  Now  shut  up." 

The  meeting  that  evening  was  largely  attended. 
A  religious  affair  of  any  kind  was  a  novelty  at  Frog 
Tanks,  and  there,  as  elsewhere,  novelties  were  in  de 
mand.  Also  there  had  been  features  of  this  one  that 
differed  widely  from  the  preconceived  notions  of  such 
things,  and  on  the  following  morning  it  was  a  subject 
of  discussion  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  Not  always 

148 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

favorable  discussion,  by  any  means,  for  those  who 
furnished  the  ordinary  amusements  of  the  people,  and 
made  their  living  thereby,  were  not  at  all  pleased  by 
the  almost  total  cessation  of  their  business  on  account 
of  this  new  evangelist  and  his  preaching. 

The  congregation  in  front  of  the  Monte  Carlo  was 
much  larger  than  had  been  the  one  of  the  day  before, 
and  more  interested.  Perrin  was  speaking,  his  tone 
of  malicious  delight  at  the  weakness  of  his  neighbors 
shriller  than  ever. 

"  Scared  —  all  you  fellows,  eh  ?  Dead  leery,  no  ? 
Back  the  cards,  devil  got  his  claw  on  your  collar. 
How's  that  ?  Take  a  drink,  go  to  hell— don't  that  go  ? " 

"  If  it  does  go,  you're  booked  to  frizzle,  William,  my 
son,  if  your  breath  don't  lie,"  snarled  a  teamster,  sober 
now  for  the  first  time  in  several  days. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  a  bird  on  the  prophesy  ?  " 
said  Sam,  the  cow-boy,  who  apparently  felt  something 
of  a  showman's  pride  in  the  sensation  he  had  intro 
duced.  "He  shoots  off  them  long  words  as  easy  as 
takin7  a  drink.  That  collection  business  queered  me, 
though.  Never  heard  of  a  preacher  before  who 
kicked  and  wouldn't  have  one  taken  up  because  it 
would  be  too  big." 

"That's  right,"  chirped  Perrin.  "What's  that  he 
said  ?  Superfluities.  That's  it.  Superfluities  he  didn't 
want,  but  grub  had  to  go— eh?  How's  the  rest?" 

"The  contribution  of  a  nickel,  our  smallest  coin, 
from  each  man,  would  serve  to  relieve  his  necessities ; 
more  he  did  not  want,  and  then  a  lot  more  I  forget. 
Have  all  you  boys  got  a  nickel  apiece  ?  I'll  go  clean 

149 


Sand  and  Cactus 

up  all  there  are  in  the  bank,  and  if  you  want  one,  come 
to  me/'  said  the  gambler. 

"Yes,  it's  only  a  square  deal  to  play  his  game,  since 
he  only  wants  a  five-cent  ante,"  said  Sam  j  then,  as  the 
gambler  went  into  the  saloon,  "  Say,  King,  John  the 
Baptist  hit  the  tin  horns  [gamblers,  more  especially 
unfair  ones]  pretty  hard  yesterday,  and  some  of  'em 
are  sore  about  it,  and  say  he's  doin'  up  their  business, 
and  they're  goin'  to  clean  him  out  to-night.  Did  you 
hear  it?" 

"No,"  replied  the  monarch  thus  appealed  to,  look 
ing  impressively  at  the  men  of  that  calling  who  stood 
near  him ;  "  but  you  can  tell  the  galoot  who  said  that, 
that  if  there's  any  cleanin'  out  to  be  done,  I'll  do  it 
myself,  and  the  man  who  tries  any  foolishness  will 
have  to  carry  his  neck  in  a  sling."  Then,  with  a  nod 
to  each  in  turn,  he  relapsed  into  his  former  silence. 

There  is  little  twilight  in  those  latitudes,  so,  though 
it  was  summer,  the  moonless  night,  its  sky  of  dark-blue 
velvet  studded  with  stars,  sparkling  as  they  never  can 
in  our  more  northern  parallels,  had  already  fallen  as 
the  inhabitants  of  Frog  Tanks,  great  and  small,  began 
to  gather  in  front  of  the  Monte  Carlo.  The  faro-rooms 
were  deserted  and  dark,  and  no  music  came  from  the 
dance-halls,  many  of  their  women  having  already 
joined  those  who,  of  a  prudent  turn  of  mind,  were 
straggling  in  knots  of  twos  and  threes  toward  the 
temple  of  justice  on  the  hill,  in  order  to  secure  seats. 
Some  of  the  bars  were  lighted,  but  few  men  hung 
over  their  rough  boards,  and  little  business  was  done. 
Of  the  crowd  gathered  in  front,  many  of  those  who 

'5° 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

had  attended  the  affair  of  the  previous  night  were 
describing  the  scene,  some  with  sheepish  confession  of 
having  been  impressed  by  it,  others  with  profane 
bravado,  to  those  of  their  neighbors  who  had  been 
absent.  A  group  of  faro-dealers  were  growling  to 
gether  at  one  side  in  a  low  tone  as  to  the  turn  affairs 
had  taken.  Everywhere  the  meeting  and  its  remark 
able  projector  absorbed  all  attention. 

"  Time  to  get  a  move  on,"  some  one  said ;  and  they 
filed  in  a  black  string  down  the  path.  Their  voices,  at 
first  raised  in  joke  and  snatches  of  song,  became  more 
subdued  as  they  approached  the  court-house,  and 
finally,  as  it  was  reached,  were  silent. 

A  lantern  hung  on  the  door-post,  burning  dimly,  and 
under  it,  holding  a  little  basket  in  her  hand,  stood  the 
elder  of  the  two  women.  Into  this,  as  he  passed,  each 
man  dropped  his  nickel,  while  on  the  other  side  the 
younger  of  the  pair  kept  silent  count  of  each  coin  as 
it  fell.  Only  nickels  were  received ;  if  a  larger  piece 
were  offered  the  giver  would  be  taken  aside  until  it 
could  be  returned  or  change  made,  and  always  with 
out  words.  Until  at  last  some  amount  agreed  upon 
seemed  to  have  been  reached,  for  the  counter  nodded 
to  her  mate,  and  both  turned  and  joined  the  entering 
crowd,  going  with  them  into  the  building. 

The  benches,  for  the  most  part  hastily  made  of 
boards  laid  over  boxes,  which  occupied  most  of  the 
barn-like  interior,  were  already  filled,  and  the  crowd 
was  lining  the  sides  of  the  room.  In  the  end  farthest 
from  the  door  a  narrow  stage  had  been  built,  and,  save 
for  two  chairs  which  stood  one  on  either  end,  was 


Sand  and  Cactus 

without  furniture.  Near  its  front  edge,  directly  in  the 
middle,  stood  John  the  Baptist,  upright,  though  with 
bowed  head,  his  long  arms  hanging  by  his  sides.  Two 
huge  tin  torches,  their  staffs  nailed  against  the  front  of 
the  platform,  rose  a  yard  above  it,  their  light  falling 
strongly  over  the  nearer  rows  of  seats,  on  the  fore 
most  of  which  sat  King  Carlo  with  his  marshal,  Sam 
the  cow-boy,  and  the  gambler  beside  him.  All  were 
uncovered  save  the  latter,  who  wore  his  broad  som 
brero  pulled  over  his  eyes  as  if  to  shield  the  face 
beneath  from  observation,  or  possibly  from  the  yellow 
glare,  which,  as  the  only  light  in  the  hall,  showed  the 
notables  in  the  forward  part  less  and  less  distinctly, 
as  though  in  the  order  of  their  standing,  until,  toward 
the  rear,  all  merged  into  one  indistinguishable  mass 
of  motionless  humanity. 

The  two  women  now  approached,  and  placing  the 
basket  on  the  stage  at  the  feet  of  their  leader,  seated 
themselves  in  the  chairs  at  its  corners ;  then  the  shuf 
fle  of  feet  gradually  ceased,  and  the  congregation 
was  silent :  there  were  no  more  to  come.  A  minute 
passed;  then  two;  but  the  form  before  them  gave 
no  sign  in  its  impassive  stillness.  The  silence  be 
came  oppressive,  and  an  uneasy  motion  stirred  the 
crowd,  then  subsided,  leaving  them  still,  as  before. 
Another  minute,  and  suddenly  the  long,  thin  arms 
were  raised  in  a  gesture  of  inspiration,  or  madness, 
and  the  disciple  began  his  message.  With  a  certain 
incoherent  eloquence,  but  in  clean-cut  sentences  and 
incisive  periods,  the  rich  voice  echoed  through  the 
bare  room  in  passionate  warning  and  appeal.  What- 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

ever  the  fact  may  have  been,  the  gaunt  figure,  his  thin 
body  trembling  with  the  pressure  of  his  own  earnest 
ness,  lacked  no  faith  in  the  divine  origin  of  his  mission, 
and  his  truth  backed  his  eloquence  well  in  its  influence 
on  the  men  to  whom  he  spoke. 

For  some  time— how  long  they  neither  knew  nor 
thought— this  went  on.  Then  his  tone  changed  to  one 
of  savage  denunciation  —  denunciation  of  the  com 
munity,  of  its  customs  and  thoughts,  of  its  pleasures 
and  lawlessness,  of—  "  You,  and  all  of  you,  who  wear 
weapons  by  your  sides,  whose  daily  life  is  one  of 
drunkenness  and  blasphemy  and  unholy  thought,  you 
who,  through  your  filthy  passions,  have  sunk  to  a  level 
even  below  that  of  the  wretched  women  who  minister 
to  them.  You  lower  than  the  lowest  who  hold  those 
cesspools  of  corruption  where,  by  godless  lust  of  play 
or  drink  or  dance,  you  drag  still  farther  down  souls 
already  steeped  in  mire.  You  to  whom  the  most 
fearful  human  conceptions  of  the  punishments  of  the 
world  now  so  near  at  hand  would  not,  were  they  multi 
plied  ten  thousandfold,  serve  to  purge  from  your 
blackened  souls  the  stains  of  the  sins  which  you  daily 
commit." 

The  speaker  paused  and  stood  erect ;  his  face,  which 
had  before  been  twitching  with  excitement,  grew  calm. 
The  silence,  save  for  the  cry  of  a  coyote  on  the  desert 
without,  and  the  muffled  sobs  of  a  woman  in  the  audi 
ence,  was  unbroken  for  some  minutes  j  then  the 
preacher  began  once  more: 

"My  mission  is  nearly  ended.  He  by  whom  I  was 
sent  hath  promised  that  soon,  my  labor  done,  I  shall 

'53 


Sand  and  Cactus 

be  relieved.  When,  I  cannot  tell.  But  I  am  ready. 
If  the  perdition  to  which,  unchanged,  you  have  con 
demned  yourselves—" 

Crack !  from  the  back  of  the  room.  The  flash  of  a 
pistol-shot  lighted,  for  an  instant,  the  darkness  there. 
The  prophet  stood  with  arms  outstretched,  as  he  had 
spoken  his  last  word,  then  swayed  slightly  and  fell 
headlong  from  the  platform  to  the  floor  below,  and  lay 
motionless. 

Hardly  had  the  echo  of  the  report  died  away  when 
the  four  men  on  the  nearest  bench  had  sprung  to  their 
feet,  and  stood  facing  the  crowd  with  drawn  weapons. 
The  benches  farthest  back  seemed  in  confusion,  and 
through  the  congregation  there  was  a  movement  as  if 
to  rise.  Then  the  King  spoke.  "  Set  down ! "  he 
roared.  The  crowd  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the 
quartette  standing  there  with  ready  pistols  was  an  ill 
one  to  face,  and  it  obeyed,  its  harsh  voices  rising  in 
curses  and  remonstrance.  "  Shut  up  ! "  Silence  en 
sued,  and  the  gambler  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  rapidly,  to 
his  chief.  "  You'll  want  to  find  whose  six-shooter  has 
been  fired.  He'll  try  to  get  out,  probably.  I'll  hold 
the  outside.  Lend  me  another  gun."  Carlo  nodded 
toward  his  left-hand  holster,  which  still  held  its  pistol, 
and  drawing  this  the  gambler  passed  quickly  down  the 
aisle  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness  outside,  while 
Perrin,  wrenching  from  its  fastenings  one  of  the 
torches,  ran  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  and  fixed  it 
there,  so  that  no  one  should  take  at  a  disadvantage  the 
men  who  stood  in  front. 

It  was  all  in  a  few  seconds.    One  of  the  women, 

154 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

rolling  her  shawl  into  a  pillow,  had  laid  on  it  the 
preacher's  head,  and  now  knelt  silently  by,  while  the 
other  fumbled  at  the  throat  of  his  shirt,  on  the  breast 
of  which  a  red  spot  broadened  and  grew  deeper ;  but 
nothing  could  help  him  now,  for  John  the  Baptist's 
work  was  ended. 

The  search  for  the  murderer  was  a  rigid  one  and 
was  carried  far  into  the  night,  but  to  no  avail ;  each 
weapon  examined  showed  no  signs  of  recent  use,  and 
those  who  had  knowledge  of  the  guilty  one  kept  their 
secret  well.  Long  before  it  was  finished,  the  two 
women,  silently  refusing  all  offers  of  assistance,  had 
placed  their  dead  in  the  old  wagon  and  driven  away, 
eastward,  over  the  trackless  desert,  carrying  with  them 
in  the  old  tin  pail  which  formed  their  table-service  a 
canvas  shot-bag  containing  the  results  of  a  goodly 
collection,  taken  and  concealed  there  by  the  gambler— 
a  collection  of  which  nickels  formed  no  part. 

At  last  the  fruitless  search  was  over  for  the  night, 
and  Frog  Tanks  slept.  It  had  nothing  else  to  do,  in 
fact,  except  to  talk  5  but  dry  conversation  did  not 
flourish  there,  and  the  bars,  by  royal  edict,  had 
been  closed. 

For  some  hours  had  their  slumber  lasted,  for  there 
was  an  unaccustomed  coolness  in  the  air,  and  it  was 
nearly  morning  when  a  faint  rumble  of  thunder 
sounded  from  time  to  time,  and  then  ceased,  as  a 
damp  breeze  sung  over  the  oasis.  Thick  clouds  gath 
ered  rapidly,  obscuring  the  stars  and  making  the 
darkness  still  blacker,  until  a  fierce  flash  of  lightning 
lit  up  the  scene  in  unearthly  blue,  followed  by  a 


Sand  and  Cactus 

crackling  roll  directly  overhead.  Frog  Tanks  sat  up 
in  its  blankets  and  listened,  while  the  lightning  played 
almost  without  intermission,  and  the  roar  was  as 
though  the  last  trump  was  indeed  sounding.  The 
gambler  in  his  cot  across  the  doorless  portal  of  the 
Monte  Carlo  was  awakened,  and,  joined  by  Perrin  from 
his  bunk  behind  the  bar,  they  pushed  the  bed  aside 
and  stood  looking  into  the  alternate  blackness  and 
brilliance  outside. 

"  Hark !  "  said  Perrin,  suddenly,  "  what's  that,  eh ! 
Wait  till  the  row  stops.  There— hear  it?" 

Between  the  peals  came  a  sound  as  of  a  horse 
galloping  madly.  At  each  intermission  it  was  louder, 
and  at  length  seemed  abreast  of  them,  when  a  flash 
showed,  as  if  in  an  instantaneous  photograph,  Nita, 
Carlo's  favorite  mare,  with  head  held  low  and  flattened 
ears,  running  for  the  open  prairie  as  if  for  her  life, 
while  on  her  back,  hatless,  half  clothed,  and  without 
his  boots,  the  reins  flying  loose  as  his  hands  were  try 
ing  to  buckle  the  cartridge-belt  and  holsters  around 
his  waist,  sat  the  King,  his  face  distorted  in  an  agony 
of  fear.  The  picture  disappeared,  and  the  hoof -beats 
were  growing  fainter,  when  the  rain  crashed  down,  its 
liquid  sheets  blotting  everything  else  from  sight  and 
hearing.  The  gambler  chuckled,  but  Perrin's  language 
was  unequal  to  the  expression  of  the  emotions  raised 
in  his  breast,  and  he  returned  to  his  bed  without 
speaking. 

The  next  morning  broke  brightly,  as  three  hundred 
and  sixty  mornings  of  the  year  do  in  Arizona. 

There  was  a  crispness  in  the  air,  for  the  sun  had  not 

156 


Martyrdom  of  John  the  Baptist 

yet  risen  high  enough  to  turn  the  moisture  into  the 
parboiling  steam  which  it  would  do  later,  when  the 
marshal  and  the  gambler  wended  their  way  toward  the 
adobe  cottage  which  served  as  a  royal  residence. 

Under  the  thatched  veranda  their  sovereign  was 
seated  as  they  arrived,  his  damp  belt  and  holsters 
stretched  in  the  sun  before  him,  and  busily  engaged 
in  cleaning  one  of  his  silver-mounted  pistols. 

A  group  of  men  stood  or  lounged  about,  who,  as 
Perrin  drew  near,  exchanged  glances.  There  had  been 
other  witnesses  of  the  previous  night's  royal  progress. 

"Mornin',  King,"  was  the  little  man's  greeting. 
"  Saw  ye  last  night.  Skippin'  the  day  of  judgment, 
eh?  Thought  she'd  arriv7  on  schedule  time,  no? 
How's  that?" 

Carlo's  face  was  not  pleasant.  "  I  warn't  takin'  no 
chances,"  he  growled. 

This  was  delightful.  Such  a  chance  did  not  often 
occur,  and  the  remarks  took  a  sarcastic  turn.  For 
some  time  the  baited  monarch  made  no  reply,  but 
wiping  carefully  the  weapon  he  held,  he  inserted  the  six 
great  forty-five  cartridges  into  their  chambers,  care 
fully,  one  by  one.  Then,  snapping  the  gate  shut,  he 
balanced  the  "  gun  "  carelessly  in  his  hand  as,  looking 
around  at  his  tormentors,  he  observed,  "  I  guess  we'll 
drap  the  subject"— and  the  subject  was  "drapped." 


'57 


LIVER'S  RESPONSIBILITY 


LIVER'S   RESPONSIBILITY 


LV^R  first  brought  the  Hypocrite  to  my  attention. 
It  was  also  he  who  established,  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  camp,  that  the  Hypocrite  was  a  very  decent 
person  in  his  somewhat  peculiar  way.  This  was  ac 
complished  very  soon  after  Liver  and  I  first  came  to 
Aparejo. 

Nominally,  and  in  the  eyes  of  outsiders,  Liver  was 
my  servant.  In  his  own  eyes  or  in  mine  it  would  be 
hard  to  define  his  position,  or  to  tell  how  he  regarded 
me.  I  always  had  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  idea  that 
he  was  sorry  for  my  tenderfoot  ignorance  and  helpless 
ness,  and  had  entered  my  service  to  assure  himself  that 
I  would  not  be  imposed  upon  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Arizona  camp  into  which  my  fortunes  had  led  me. 

I  had  found  Liver,  a  few  months  before,  ill  and 
alone  in  a  deserted  cabin  on  an  unfrequented  trail, 
where  he  had  been  left  by  an  outfit  of  gamblers  ex 
pelled  from  a  near-by  town.  Though  fifteen  years  of 
age,  and  some  four  feet  eight  in  height,  Liver  was  by 
profession  a  faro-dealer,  and  had  been  expelled  with 
the  rest  of  the  fraternity.  I  attended  to  him  in  a  sort 

161 


Sand  and  Cactus 

of  way,  for  I  took  a  fancy  to  his  wicked  little  face. 
Besides,  I  couldn't  leave  him  there  alone.  At  any  rate, 
the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  Liver  entered  my  service. 
As  a  servant  he  left  much  to  be  desired,  but  a  more 
loyal  or  devoted  adherent  would  be  very  hard  to  find. 
We  went  to  Aparejo  together,  and  that  is  where  the 
Hypocrite  came  in. 

In  Aparejo  the  Hypocrite  was  an  institution.  He 
was  the  proverbial  oldest  inhabitant,  for  he  had  been 
living  in  his  big  dug-out  cabin  on  the  side  of  Red  Hen 
Hill  when  the  much  overrated  placer-mines  caused 
Aparejo's  birth,  two  years  before.  But  the  Hypocrite 
was  not  popular.  It  was  not  that  he  crossed  in  any 
way  the  loose  line  of  frontier  ethics,  but  that  he  had 
a  way  of  keeping  entirely  to  himself,  that  he  lived 
without  work  on  remittances  that  came  from  some 
mysterious  source  in  the  East,  sent  to  Tucson  and 
redirected  to  our  post-office,  and  that  his  appearance 
did  not  meet  with  public  approval. 

He  was  tall,  with  a  pear-shaped  body,  always  dressed 
in  black.  His  face  was  very  white,  and  so  was  his 
scanty  hair,  which  he  kept  closely  cropped.  He  had  a 
manner  of  walking  about  with  his  hands  under  the 
tails  of  his  clerical-looking  coat  and  his  head  thrust 
forward,  that  gave  rise  to  many  unfavorable  com 
ments. 

It  was  Liver  who  told  me  all  these  things,  for  at  that 
time  I  had  never  seen  the  Hypocrite.  My  time  was  all 
taken  up  with  the  badly  paying  mines  I  had  charge  of, 
and  just  then  Liver  was  the  only  one  of  the  household 
who  had  any  leisure. 

162 


Liver's  Responsibility 

"  It's  dead  low-down,  the  way  them  chumps  aroun' 
here  is  givin'  it  ter  that  oP  chroino,"  said  Liver  to  me. 
"  He  ain't  no  hypocrite  like  what  they  calls  him,  but 
they  ain't  got  sense  enough  ter  savvy  that,  ner  nothin' 
else,  much.  What  is  er  hypocrite  1 n 

I  told  him. 

"  Thought  so,  only  I  wanted  ter  make  sure.  Well, 
he  ain't  none.  It's  that  way  he's  got  er  passin'  roun' 
here  with  his  han's  under  the  tails  er  that  long-legged 
coat  er  his,  lookin'  like  one  er  these  yer  crow-birds 
what's  been  made  sick  by  havin'  his  head  shoved  into 
a  flour-sack.  That's  what  makes  'em  say  he's  er  hypo 
crite—that  an'  the  way  he'll  get  drunk  all  by  his  lone 
some.  If  he  wants  ter  get  drunk  that-a-way  it's  his 
own  f  uner'l,  I  reckon.  They  talk  about  how  he's  pious. 
It's  a  lie.  He  ain't  no  more  pious  than  you  are." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Liver  did  not  regard  piety  as 
a  virtue.  His  judgment,  however,  was  entirely  from 
hearsay. 

I  wanted  to  see  the  Hypocrite,  for  the  interest  taken 
in  him  by  my  henchman  had  aroused  my  own  curiosity. 
I  had  never  known  Liver  to  talk  so  long  on  any  sub 
ject  before.  Ordinarily  Liver  was  rather  a  taciturn 
person. 

My  desire  was  gratified  the  next  afternoon.  It  was 
the  end  of  a  long  and  tiresome  day  that  Liver  and  I 
had  spent  in  searching  for  obliterated  and  utterly  un- 
fmdable  claim-corners.  We  had  ridden  over  many 
miles  of  the  sandy  wilderness,  and  climbed  several 
more  that  were  set  on  end  against  the  dry,  earthy- 
looking  mountains,  and  we  were  on  our  homeward 

163 


Sand  and  Cactus 

way,  watching  the  long,  ungainly  shadows  curveting 
along  on  our  left.  The  sun,  a  dull  red  ball,  was  sink 
ing  below  the  level  edge  of  the  desert.  It  had  been 
very  silent— silent  as  it  can  never  be  anywhere  but  on 
a  desert  or  at  sea.  Then  from  the  west  came  a  faint 
rumble  that  grew  louder,  and  topping  a  wrinkle  of  the 
plain,  half  a  mile  away,  an  irregular,  rapidly  moving 
black  mass  appeared,  scarring  the  sun's  lower  limb. 

"  Indians  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Stampede,"  responded  Liver.     "  Come  on." 

Turning  his  horse,  Liver  rode  across  the  desert  to 
ward  the  dimly  seen  mass,  and  I  followed  him.  It 
grew  more  distinct.  We  could  hear  the  rumbling 
thunder  of  the  hoof-beats  and  the  cries  of  men  who 
were  riding  with  the  rush.  Liver  turned  again  and 
rode  slowly  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  stampede,  and 
again  I  followed  suit.  In  another  moment  it  had 
caught  us. 

The  animals — they  were  horses — were  running  in 
the  shape,  roughly  speaking,  of  a  rectangle,  on  the 
forward  right-hand  corner  of  which  we  found  our 
selves.  Near  us  there  rode  a  cow-boy,  striking  with 
the  heavy  Jionda  of  his  lariat  at  the  heads  of  the  for 
ward  horses,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  turn  them  before 
they  reached  the  cliffs,  a  mile  or  two  away,  for  which 
they  were  headed.  Directly  in  front  of  the  crazed 
animals  another  cow-boy  was  riding  for  his  life,  edging 
to  the  right  as  fast  as  he  dared,  in  order  to  get  clear 
from  the  path  of  the .  stampede.  Inside  the  square, 
but  close  to  its  edge,  there  ran  a  horse  that  was  sad 
dled,  and  ridden  by  a  man  whom  I  at  once  recognized, 

164 


Liver's  Responsibility 

from  Liver's  description,  as  the  Hypocrite.  With  both 
reins  flying  loose,  he  was  clinging  to  the  horn  of  his 
saddle.  Only,  one  animal  hemmed  him  in  to  the 
stampede.  A  resolute  horseman  could  have  forced  his 
way  out,  but  the  Hypocrite  was  not  a  resolute  horse 
man.  All  his  faculties  seemed  centred  in  the  one  idea 
of  keeping  on  his  uncontrollable  mount. 

"  Pull  'im  out ! "  screamed  Liver.  "  Let  go  yer 
saddle  an'  grab  yer  reins !  What's  wrong  with  you 
—you  daffy?" 

If  the  man  heard  the  warning,  he  paid  no  attention 
to  it,  but  shifted  the  hold  of  one  hand  from  the  horn 
of  his  saddle  to  its  cantle.  Liver  turned  into  the 
press,  squeezed  his  way  through,  and  grasped  the 
flowing  bridle-rein.  Then  he  tried  to  regain  the  open 
plain  j  but  the  horse  that  confined  him  had  been  reen- 
forced  by  two  others.  I  tried  to  help,  and  my  mount 
nearly  fell  from  the  collision  that  followed.  Suddenly 
one  of  the  three  horses  fell,  and  another  tripped  over 
him.  I  was  going  to  shoot  the  third,  but  before  my 
pistol  had  left  its  holster  I  saw  Liver  raise  his  hand 
and  fire.  The  third  horse  tumbled  like  a  shot  rabbit. 
This  left  an  opening,  and  through  it  Liver  came,  lean 
ing  almost  out  of  his  saddle  to  counterbalance  the 
pull,  as  with  his  free  hand  he  led  the  horse  of  the 
Hypocrite  out  on  to  the  open  desert. 

The  stampede  rushed  by.  Between  us,  Liver  and  I 
brought  the  captive  horse  to  a  stand  j  but  that  was  not 
a  very  difficult  matter,  now  that  the  excitement  and 
fright  of  the  other  panic-stricken  animals  was  no 
longer  there  to  spur  him  on. 

165 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  Hypocrite  smiled  weakly  as  he  looked  first  at 
Liver  and  then  at  me.  He  raised  his  hand  to  his  fore 
head  and  swayed  in  his  saddle.  He  would  have  fallen 
if  I  had  not  caught  his  shoulder. 

"What's  bitin'  you  now?"  asked  Liver,  roughly. 
"Needn'  go  daffy  again.  Yer  all  outer  the  game, 
straight  enough.  Them  horses  is  pilin'  'emselves  at 
the  foot  er  that  mesa  by  now." 

"  No,"  replied  the  old  man,  in  a  voice  that  was  singu 
larly  weak  and  thin  and  trembling.  "All  right— all 
right,  now.  Thank  you,  thank  you."  As  he  spoke 
his  shaking  hand  was  uncertainly  seeking  something 
in  the  tail-pocket  of  his  long  black  coat.  Slipping  his 
hand  in  the  pocket,  Liver  brought  forth  a  flask,  which 
he  handed  to  the  Hypocrite,  uncorking  it  as  he  did  so. 
With  some  difficulty  the  Hypocrite  guided  the  bottle 
to  his  mouth,  and  held  it  there  for  a  long  time,  glued 
to  his  thick,  loosely  hung  lips.  His  face,  from  the 
fright,  had  evidently  been  paler  than  usual,  for  I  could 
see  the  color  returning  to  a  network  of  little  veins  that 
covered  his  nose — veins  that  were  very  minute  and 
imperceptible  a  little  way  off.  They  were  the  only 
marks  of  liquor  that  the  face  showed.  It  was  a 
heavy,  weak,  amiable  face. 

That  drink  seemed  to  pull  the  Hypocrite  together. 
He  nodded  to  us  quite  briskly  as,  throwing  down  the 
empty  bottle,  he  trotted  away. 

"  That's  him,"  said  Liver,  as  we  resumed  our  home 
ward  journey.  "  He  ain't  no  harm  at  all,  but  a  lot  er 
them  chumps  at  the  camp  has  all  got  it  in  fer  'im  'cause 
he  stays  by  himself  an7  don't  have  nothin'  to  say  to 

1 66 


Liver's  Responsibility 

'em  j  an'  a  lot  er  fellers  what  don't  think  nothin'  about 
it,  an'  don't  care,  jus'  lets  it  go  at  that.  Say,  'jer  see 
the  drink  that  ol'  boy  throwed  down  him?  There 
wasn't  nothin'  slow  about  that,  was  ther*  ?  " 

The  magnitude  of  that  drink  inspired  Liver  with 
respect.  His  advocacy  of  the  Hypocrite  had  hitherto 
been  moderate,  being  merely  the  expression  of  Liver's 
characteristic  hatred  of  injustice.  Now,  however,  it 
became  so  aggressive  that  it  savored  of  proprietorship. 
Not  only  did  Liver  espouse  the  Hypocrite's  cause,  but 
championed  it  as  well.  It  had  been  the  custom  of  cer 
tain  men  in  Aparejo  to  make  a  scapegoat  of  the  Hypo 
crite  by  hinting  that  he  was  responsible  for  many  of 
the  smaller  misdeeds— thievery,  or  the  like— that  were 
committed  in  the  camp.  This  was  resented  by  Liver. 
Those  who  brought  such  veiled  charges  invariably 
bore  reputations  more  unsavory  than  did  the  run  of 
men  in  our  camp.  Such  a  reputation  was  indeed  un 
savory,  and  this  fact,  with  corroboratory  details,  would 
be  forcibly  recalled  to  a  person  who  accused  the  Hypo 
crite,  together  with  Liver's  caustically  expressed  opin 
ion  of  one  who  slandered  an  absent  man. 

By  those  to  whom  he  addressed  himself  in  this  man 
ner  Liver  was  not  beloved;  the  Hypocrite's  more 
active  enemies,  therefore,  became  enemies  of  Liver  as 
well.  Chief  among  these  was  Dawlish.  Dawlish  was 
a  big  man  with  a  large,  flat  face,  and  small,  shifty 
eyes  that  looked  like  shoe-buttons.  He  kept  a  little 
tienda,  half  store,  half  saloon,  where  he  courted  popu 
larity  by  means  of  a  loud  voice  and  brusk  manner, 
which  he  intended  to  pass,  and  which  did  pass  in 

167 


Sand  and  Cactus 

many  instances,  for  bluff  heartiness  and  good-fellow 
ship. 

"  That  ther'  Dawlish  fool  hell  run  himself  'gains'  a 
stan'still  one  er  these  odd  times  if  he  don't  watch  out," 
said  Liver  to  me  the  morning  after  the  stampede,  as 
he  was  building  the  fire  for  breakfast.  "  Somebody 
went  through  Tripler  las'  night,  when  he  was  comin' 
home  a  little  owly,  an'  boned  his  dust.  Tripler  can't 
tell  who  it  was,  but  Dawlish  he's  talkin'  down  to  the 
Palace  how  he  saw  oF  man  Reed—" 

"Who?"  Tasked. 

"OF  man  Reed— him  they  call  Hypocrite.  It's  a 
dead  shame,  an'  I  won't  call  him  so.  —Saw  oF  man 
Reed  walkin'  with  Tripler  'bout  ten  er  'leven  las' 
night.  It  ain't  so.  Was  up  on  Red  Hen  myself  las' 
night,  ter  see  'f  the  scare  er  that  stampede  had  done 
th'  oF  boy  up,  er  anythin'.  He  was  there,  sittin'  in  his 
own  dugout,  min'in'  his  own  business  all  the  time.  He 
wasn't  nowhere  else  once.  I  reckon  I'll  see  Dawlish 
about  that." 

I  gave  Liver  most  definite  and  emphatic  orders  to 
do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Liver  listened  attentively  and 
answered  not  a  word,  and  I  knew  that  I  might  just 
as  well  have  held  my  tongue.  To  be  sure,  Liver  was 
safer  than  most  people  would  have  been,  no  matter 
what  he  chose  to  do,  for  with  the  men  who  made  up 
the  better  element  of  our  camp— and  bad  enough  this 
better  element  was,  for  the  most  part— Liver  was  a 
great  favorite.  They  liked  his  hard  little  face,  where 
the  lines  of  the  gambler  already  showed  themselves ; 
they  liked  his  queer  little  figure,  that  looked  so  like  a 

1 68 


Liver's  Responsibility 

cow-boy  seen  through,  the  wrong  end  of  an  opera- 
glass,  in  its  chaps,  gun,  and  high-heeled  boots.  His 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil— especially  evil— pleased 
them ;  he  was  "  so  damned  bad,"  as  they  expressed  it 
They  knew  nothing  of  Liver's  profession,  however,  for 
he  never  mentioned  it,  and  at  his  request  I  also  kept 
it  secret. 

I  did  not  intend  that  Liver  should  pursue  his  absurd 
knight-errantry  if  I  could  prevent  it ;  so  all  that  day  I 
kept  Liver  employed  to  keep  him  from  wandering,  and 
in  order  that  he  might  have  something  else  to  think 
about. 

After  supper,  however,  as  I  became  absorbed  in  some 
figures,  Liver  left  the  unwashed  dishes  to  take  care  of 
themselves  and  disappeared.  He  must  have  been  gone 
some  time  when  I  first  noticed  his  absence.  I  was 
about  to  start  after  him  to  bring  him  back,  by  force 
if  necessary,  when  there  came  a  knock  at  my  door.  It 
was  opened  before  I  had  time  to  answer,  and  Richie, 
deputy  sheriff,  proprietor  of  the  Palace  saloon,  and 
all-around  local  magnate,  entered  the  room.  It  was 
not  a  large  room,  and  with  Dan's  shoulders  in  it,  it 
seemed  uncomfortably  crowded. 

"  Evenin',"  he  remarked  cheerfully,  with  a  grin  that 
covered  most  of  his  good-natured  red  face.  "  Reckoned 
I'd  jes'  drap  raoun'  an'  tip  y'  off  'baout  that  kid  er 
yourn.  'Lowed  maybe  you  might  be  gitt'n'  worried, 
'cause  he  toP  me  he  hooked  away  'thout  askin'  leave." 

I  did  not  want  to  offend  Richie  ;  he  was  a  power  in 
Aparejo,  and  to  me  a  friendly  power  for  the  reason 
that  I  was  fresh  from  the  Eastern  State  that  he  had 

169 


Sand  and  Cactus 

left  so  long  ago  that  everybody  but  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  it.  But  I  was  anxious  to  find  Liver,  and  said 
so.  I  told  Dan  that  Liver  had  given  me  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  he  was  looking  for  Dawlish,  and  that  if  he 
should  succeed  in  his  search,  there  might  be  trouble. 
"  He  seen  'im  all  right  enough,"  Richie  replied  with 
a  chuckle,  seating  himself  in  a  chair  that  creaked  com- 
plainingly  under  his  weight.  "  Oh,  he  seen  Dawlish 
all  straight  enough.  There  was  trouble,  too— trouble 
fer  Dawlish.  Liver  he  struck  Dawlish  in  my  place, 
awhile  ago,  an'  he  begins  to  call  'im  down  fer  some- 
thin7  he'd  said  'baout  that  ol'  Hypocrite,  as  they  calls 
him,  what  lives  up  on  the  hill,  over  yander.  Dawlish 
answers  somehow,— don't  know  what  he  said,  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  please  the  kid,  noways,— an7  then  Liver 
turns  himself  loose.  In  a  minute  he'd  called  Dawlish 
more  different  things  than  I  could  'a'  done  if  I'd 
studied  a  year ;  an'  I  couldn't  do  no  such  cussin'  as  he 
did,  not  if  I  tried  for  two  year.  You  orter  'a'  heard 
it— it  was  great.  Dawlish  made  out 's  if  'twere  a  joke, 
first  off,  but  'twarn't  no  joke,  an'  he  couldn't  make  it 
look  like  one,  nohow.  The  boys  that  were  hangin' 
roun'  there  begins  to  give  Dawlish  the  laugh,  an'  that 
makes  him  mad.  Fus'  thing  we  knows  he  ups  an' 
makes  a  break  fer  the  kid.  Well,  sir,  that  kid  he 
makes  the  prutties'  gun-play  you  ever  see  in  yer  life. 
He  did  for  sure.  He  had  that  six-shooter  of  hisn  out 
an'  cocked  an'  down  before  that  Dawlish  could  put  the 
foot  he'd  lifted  back  on  the  groun'.  Dawlish  sees  he's 
in  a  hole,  an'  stops  a  minute ;  then  he  turns  an'  leaves, 
walkin'  straight,  like,  an'  with  both  han's  held  out  from 

I70 


Liver's  Responsibility 

his  body,  well  clear  of  his  holsters.  Liver  looks  after 
him  fer  a  little,  an'  then  shoves  his  gun  back  in  its 
holster,  an'  mogs  out  'thout  sayin'  a  word  to  nobody, 
an'  goes  up  on  the  hill  ter  see  that  ol'  Hypocrite  cuss. 
He's  thar  now.  He  puts  in  all  his  spare  time  thar 
every  evenin'.  Say,  he  ain't  nothin'  slow  fer  a  kid, 
you  hear  me  tell." 

Dan  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled.  He  was  much 
amused.  I  was  not.  I  was  very  angry  at  Liver,  and 
mentioned  casually  to  Dan  what  I  intended  to  do  when 
Liver  should  return.  Dan  took  his  leave,  saying,  as  he 
went  out  of  the  door,  that  I  ought  rather  to  encourage 
Liver  than  otherwise,  as  he  "  done  a  damn  good  job." 

On  thinking  it  over,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  had  better  take  no  notice  of  the  affair.  It  might 
cause  a  breach  between  Liver  and  me,  for  which  I 
would  be  sorry.  So  when  he  came,  I  merely  reminded 
him  gravely  about  the  unwashed  dishes,  and  he  began 
at  once  to  rattle  them  about  as  though  he  would  break 
them,  every  one,  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

He  had  nearly  finished  the  dishes,  and  had  only 
broken  two,  when  he  said,  in  a  pause  of  the  rattle,  "  I 
was  up  t'  ol'  man  Reed's  joint  this  evenin'.  Jus'  came 
f  om  there." 

"  Yes,"  I  acquiesced.     "  Was  he  sober  ?  " 

"  Not  very.  Not  what  you'd  call  drunk,  you  know, 
such  as  you  'r  I'd  get,  but  jus'  owly,  like  he  most  gen- 
er'ly  is.  Had  one  er  his  daughter  jags  on— the  reglar 
thing." 

Now,  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  getting  drunk,  and 
I  did  not  know  that  Liver  was,  but  I  let  that  pass. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Neither  did  I  understand  the  nature  of  a  "daughter 
jag/7  so  I  inquired. 

"  When  th'  ol'  boy  hasn't  got  much  in  'im,  he's  as 
tight  as  a  new  tomarter-can,"  explained  Liver.  "  But 
then,  when  he's  got  a  little  more  inside  his  face,  he 
gets  to  talkin'  'bout  that  ther'  girl  er  his  what  runned 
away  fom  'im,  years  back.  Never  talks  er  nothiii' 
else  when  he  gets  to  that  stage  er  the  game.  Says 
how  he  wants  to  find  'er,  an'  how  he  hunted  fer  'er, 
an'  wonders  where  she's  got  to.  Says  she's  ol'  'nough 
ter  have  er  kid  'bout  like  me,  or  a  year  or  two  older, 
maybe.  Sometimes  he  cries  about  it— he's  an  ol'  man, 
you  know,  an'  weak,  so  I  don'  min'  that  if  it  makes 
him  feel  any  better.  That's  what  we  call  a  daughter 
jag.  He  don't  say  nothin'  'bout  himself  nor  his  folks 
nor  nothin'  like  that,  not  at  no  other  time." 

Liver  gave  this  explanation  in  rather  an  absent 
manner.  Evidently  he  had  something  on  his  mind. 
Finally  it  came  out.  "  Say ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
energetically  banged  the  last  plate  on  to  the  shelf,  "  I 
seen  Dawlish  this  evenin',  an'  I  talked  to  him  some. 
There  wasn't  no  harm  done." 

Harm  seemed  to  have  come  from  Liver's  quarrel,  in 
spite  of  his  assertions  to  the  contrary,  for  his  nightly 
visits  to  the  Hypocrite's  cabin  became  shorter,  and 
finally  they  stopped. 

"  Yes,  it's  Dawlish,"  said  Liver,  in  reply  to  my  in 
quiry  as  to  the  reason  of  this  change.  "He's  there 
whenever  I  goes  up  t'  see  the  ol'  man,  or  if  he  ain't 
there  he  comes  in  before  I  get  fair  sot  down.  They're 
talkin'  together,  them  two,  an'  when  I  come  in  they 

172 


Liver's  Responsibility 

stops,  dead.  I  d'  know  what's  goin'  on,  but  Dawlish  he's 
been  tryin'  everythin'  he  knows  fer  a  week,  now,  t'  get 
in  with  th'  oP  man,  an'  he's  doin'  it  too.  OP  Reed  he 
don't  mean  ter  give  me  no  frost,  an'  I  don't  care  nothin' 
'bout  t'other  one,  but  it  ain't  very  gay,  somehow,  so  I 
don't  go  there  no  more.  What  Dawlish  is  gettin'  at 
licks  me." 

It  licked  me,  too,  and  I  found  that  the  other  inhabi 
tants  of  Aparejo  were  equally  puzzled  as  to  the  mean 
ing  of  this  sudden  intimacy.  Not  that  it  lacked  a 
motive,  for  it  was  a  very  well  known  fact  that  the 
Hypocrite  had  money  coming  to  him  every  month 
from  somewhere,  which  money  he  must  have  saved. 
The  Hypocrite  spent  little  except  for  liquor,  and 
liquor,  such  as  it  is  in  that  country,  is  cheap.  What 
astonished  us  all  was  that  Dawlish  appeared  to  be 
more  or  less  successful  in  establishing  himself  in  the 
Hypocrite's  favor.  Dawlish  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of 
person  one  would  think  would  attract  that  shy,  retiring 
old  drunkard.  In  an  amused  sort  of  way  the  men 
were  all  talking  about  the  strange  friendship,  and 
offering  bets  against  Dawlish's  success.  These  bets 
were  lost,  for  the  intimacy  grew  day  by  day.  Dawlish 
was  seldom  in  his  former  haunts ;  his  store  was  kept  by 
a  deputy,  or  kept  itself,  just  as  it  happened. 

Suddenly  Dawlish  left  town,  dropping  boastful  but 
mysterious  hints,  as  he  started  for  the  railway-station 
twenty  miles  away,  of  a  sensation  that  awaited  us  on 
his  return.  We  all  knew  that  he  gloried  in  the  curi 
osity  he  had  awakened,  and  that  he  would  spare  no 
pains  to  increase  the  dubious  prominence  it  gave  him. 

173 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Nevertheless,  when,  three  days  later,  the  rickety 
Concord  stage,  joggling  on  its  dusty  thorough-braces, 
rolled  with  complaining  spokes  and  running-gear  into 
the  town,  most  of  Aparejo's  inhabitants  stood  waiting 
on  the  veranda  of  the  ramshackle  building,  half  un- 
painted  frame,  half  adobe,  which  we  called  a  hotel. 

As  the  stage  stopped,  Dawlish  opened  the  door  and 
got  out.  He  turned  and  spoke  to  some  one  within  the 
canvas  body  of  the  vehicle,  then  stood  aside  with  a 
grin,  half-sheepish,  half-triumphant,  as  a  feminine 
form  appeared.  As  she  saw  the  men  congregated  on 
the  steps,  the  woman  hesitated  and  shrank  back. 
Dawlish  spoke  to  her  again,  roughly  this  time.  She 
stepped  out  on  to  the  box  that  served  as  a  horse-block, 
looked  around  at  us  with  a  quick  glance  of  embarrass 
ment,  then  dropped  her  eyes.  She  was  very  small  and 
very  young,  with  a  weak  little  face  that  would  have 
been  pretty  had  it  not  been  so  thin  and  pinched.  Her 
thinness  impressed  one.  It  was  emphasized  by  every 
movement,  as  her  scanty  calico  gown  clung  to  the 
slight  bones  of  her  frame. 

Groping  in  the  interior  of  the  stage,  Dawlish  fished 
from  under  the  seat  a  shiny  little  black  valise.  He 
handed  it  to  the  girl,  and  tucked  her  other  hand  under 
his  arm.  Then  he  took  off  his  hat  and  made  a  sweep 
ing  bow  to  us  all. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  this  here  lady's  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Dawlish."  The  pair  walked  a  few  steps  up  the 
road,  then  Dawlish  turned  and  faced  us  once  more. 
"  Likewise  this  lady's  the  gran'dahter  of  our  prominent 
feller-citizen  what  lives  over  on  the  hill  yander,  where 


Liver's  Responsibility 

we  intend  takin'  up  our  residence.  You  needn't  none 
er  you  bother  to  call.  We  don't  care  f er  no  visits  yet 
awhile."  Turning  again,  Dawlish  led  the  way  toward 
the  Hypocrite's  cabin,  and  the  girl  followed  him. 

The  situation  was  pretty  thoroughly  canvassed  be 
fore  the  men  parted  that  evening.  A  little  indigna 
tion  was  expressed,  and  a  good  deal  of  amusement. 
When  they  finally  dropped  off,  one  by  one,  there  was 
a  generally  expressed  belief  that  Dawlish  could  not 
keep  himself  long  away  from  the  surroundings  he 
loved.  Though  he  seldom  gambled,  the  faro-room, 
with  its  rough  bar  and  attendant  atmosphere  of  stale 
liquor  and  flies  and  smoke,  was  all  he  knew  or  cared 
for.  His  idea  of  happiness  was  to  pose  as  the  leader 
of  the  company  he  found  there.  If  he  had  any  notion 
of  heaven,  it  was  probably  the  same  kind  of  thing, 
somewhat  amplified. 

The  Palace— Richie's  place— was  the  principal  sa 
loon  of  the  town,  and  here,  early  on  the  next  after 
noon,  Dawlish  appeared.  Dawlish  had  money  now, 
and  began  to  spend  it  freely,  but  still  he  could  not 
attain  the  state  of  leadership  to  which  he  aspired. 
Many  of  the  men  held  aloof  from  him.  Dawlish  said 
that  it  was  from  envy,  and  as  far  as  his  own  former 
friends  were  concerned  he  may  have  been  right.  To 
his  companions  Dawlish  made  no  pretence  that  his 
assertions  of  his  wife's  relationship  to  the  Hypocrite 
were  true.  It  would  have  been  useless  if  he  had,  for 
no  one  would  have  believed  him ;  but  Dawlish  had  a 
stronger  reason  than  that  for  his  frankness  :  had  the 
story  been  true,  he  could  not  have  boasted  that  his 

175 


Sand  and  Cactus 

present  fortune  was  the  direct  result  of  his  Own  ex 
traordinary  cleverness,  and  his  enjoyment  of  the  for 
tune  would,  in  a  large  measure,  have  been  lost  to  him. 

In  a  day  or  two  Dawlish's  circle  of  friends  had  con 
tracted  noticeably.  He  had  still  a  following,  it  is  true, 
and  would  continue  to  have  as  long  as  the  money  lasted 
and  he  was  willing  to  spend  it  j  but  the  following  was 
small,  and  was  not  made  up  of  the  men  in  whose  eyes 
he  would  wish  to  find  favor.  As  his  friends  fell  away, 
the  sentiment  against  him  grew  stronger.  A  rumor 
that  Dawlish  ill-treated  his  wife  alienated  many  who 
would  merely  have  laughed  at  his  deception  of  the 
Hypocrite.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  as  to  what 
should  be  done  about  it,  and,  as  usual  in  such  cases, 
nothing  was  done. 

Indeed,  as  far  as  the  Hypocrite  was  concerned,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  excuse  for  outside  interference  at 
first.  No  harm  was  done  to  the  old  man,  as  far  as  we 
could  see,  except  for  the  money  that  Dawlish  spent, 
and  that,  probably,  was  given  to  Dawlish  voluntarily. 
Even  Liver  owned,  rather  reluctantly,  that  the  old 
man  had  never  before  appeared  so  happy.  For  hours 
at  a  time  he  would  wander  about  the  country  with  his 
newly  found  granddaughter.  When  she  was  out  of  his 
sight  he  was  uneasy  and  troubled  until  she  returned. 

The  girl,  on  her  part,  certainly  seemed  to  return  this 
affection  in  full.  In  the  opinion  of  the  camp,  no  blame 
attached  itself  to  the  girl.  Individual  opinion  differed 
only  as  to  whether  she  was  coerced  into  playing  her 
part,  or  was  herself  deceived.  Certainly  she  seemed 
to  return  the  Hypocrite's  affection  in  full.  When  she 

176 


Liver's  Responsibility 

was  with  him  her  manner  was  very  different  than 
when  her  husband  accompanied,  spoke,  or  even  looked 
at  her.  She  attended  to  the  old  man's  wants  in  a  man 
ner  to  which  he  must  have  been  a  stranger  for  years. 

But  the  Hypocrite's  hoards  could  not  stand  for  long 
this  drain  upon  them.  It  became  known  that  the  old 
man  had  asked  for  credit  at  one  of  the  stores,  a  thing 
which  he  had  never  done  before.  Dawlish  began  to 
gamble,  and  lost  considerably,  and  the  talk  about  him 
became  louder  and  more  serious.  The  men  were  not 
at  all  amused  now.  Dawlish's  conduct,  they  said,  dis 
graced  the  camp.  A  more  severe  comment  on  this 
conduct  could  hardly  have  been  made.  They  wanted 
Liver  to  warn  the  old  man  of  his  danger. 

For  some  time  Liver  held  back.  Though  he  did  not 
tell  me,  I  knew  that  he  felt  keenly  the  Hypocrite's  de 
fection  from  his  former  friendship.  Finally,  however, 
the  many  persuasions  prevailed,  and  Liver  made  the 
attempt. 

Liver  said  nothing  of  his  intention  to  me,  but  I  saw 
him  go  up  to  the  old  man's  house,  and  from  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  return  to  get  supper  I  inferred  that 
his  mission  had  met  with  some  success.  Liver  re 
turned  at  last,  with  a  half -apology  for  having  omitted 
my  supper.  The  extreme  importance  of  his  errand 
was  the  ground  of  the  explanation. 

"Yer  see,  some  er  the  boys  was  dead  anxious  fer 
me  tf  give  th'  ol'  man  a  steer  'bout  what  he's  runnin' 
agains',  so  I  did,"  said  he.  "Well,  7twarn't  no  great 
good.  I  feared  I'd  get  it  in  the  neck.  He  ups  an' 
tells  me  ter  min'  my  own  business,  an'  then  he  jumps 

i77 


Sand  and  Cactus 

me  fer  lis'nin'  ter  them  scan'lous  stories.  Scan'lous, 
he  said  they  was,  an'  somethin'  else,  too.  Oh,  yes- 
malicious.  Scan'lous  an'  malicious  stories— that's 
what  he  said.  He  tol'  me  that  Dawlish  was  Mary's— 
that's  the  name  er  the  girl— was  Mary's  husband,  an' 
't wasn't  no  man's  business  but  his  what  Dawlish  done. 
Then  he  gets  kinder  sorry  fer  havin'  spoke  so  rough, 
an'  tells  me  not  ter  min'  him  bein'  put  out.  Says  the 
trouble  he's  had  'bout  this  racket  has  made  him  cranky. 
S'pose  he  means  the  shake-ups  the  other  boys  has  been 
givin'  him.  Then  he  daddies  along  like  he  always 
does,  tellin'  me  what  a  dead  fine  girl  Mary  is.  Says  I 
mus'  come  home  with  him  fer  supper.  I  don't  wanter 
go,  but  th'  ol'  man  says  it  ain't  no  square  deal  if  I 
don't.  Says  I  believed  things  I  hear,  an'  oughter  be 
willin'  t'  go  'n'  see  fer  myself.  'Tain't  much  of  er 
supper,  but  Mary— say,  she's  a  dead  fine  girl  fer  fair. 
We  was  gettin'  on  all  right  when  in  comes  Dawlish. 
He's  a  little  full,  prob'ly,  an'  he  growls  at  the  girl,  an' 
she  kinder  goes  down  into  herself,  rattled.  Then  he 
asks  me  what  I'm  doin'  there.  I  couldn't  answer 
before  ol'  man  Reed  he  jumps  him  fer  fair.  '  This 
gen'leman's  my  guest,'  says  he.  i  You'll  please  re 
member  that  this  is  my  house.  You  ferget  yerself.' 
That's  what  he  said.  '  You  ferget  yerself .'  How's  that 
ferth'ol'man?" 

"  Did  you  say  anything  to  Dawlish,  Liver  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No.  I  didn't  wanter  have  no  fight,  not  in  there ; 
so  I  says  good  night,  an'  when  I  come  out  I  get  close 
to  Dawlish  an'  tell  him  I'll  wait  fer  him  outside,  down 
in  the  arroyo  below,  where  nobody  can't  hear  no 

178 


Liver's  Responsibility 

shootin'  nor  nothin'.  I  wait,  but  lie  don't  come,  so  I 
mosey  along  down  here." 

Liver's  idea  of  an  argument  was  so  alarming  that  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  keep  a  closer  watch  of  his  move 
ments  than  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  His 
evenings  were  his  own,  and  the  use  to  which  he  seemed 
likely  to  put  this  leisure  would  not  be  conducive  to  his 
health  or  longevity.  For  some  time  after  my  long- 
delayed  supper,  Liver  made  no  attempt  to  go  out. 
At  length,  after  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
intended  to  stay  at  home  that  evening,  he  gave  me  the 
slip  and  vanished.  I  knew  where  to  go  as  I  hurried 
out  in  search  of  him.  Undoubtedly  he  was  looking 
for  Dawlish,  and  Dawlish,  I  was  sure,  would  be  in  the 
Palace  saloon. 

The  Palace  was  not  crowded  that  night.  The  pay 
day  of  the  mining  companies  was  nearly  due,  so  the 
men,  most  of  them,  were  short  of  money.  The  bar 
had  but  a  thin  line  of  men  standing  before  it.  One 
faro-table  was  running  for  the  accommodation  of  three 
or  four  "pikers,"  who  were  languidly  laying  small  sums 
on  the  painted  cards.  A  little  distance  away  Dawlish 
was  holding  loudly  forth  to  a  knot  of  his  friends. 
"  He's  flush  to-night,"  somebody  informed  me  as  I  en 
tered.  "The  Hypocrite's  allowance  come  to-day,  an' 
Dawlish  he  got  the  check  cashed  over  to  the  post- 
office."  Certainly  Dawlish  seemed  to  be  on  good 
terms  with  himself.  He  strolled  over  to  the  table, 
placed  a  bet,— rather  a  heavy  one,— and  lost  it.  "  It's 
all  luck,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  relaid  the 
wager. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Liver  was  leaning  over  the  table,  watching  the  play 
as  though  faro  was  something  of  a  novelty  to  him.  As 
Dawlish  lost  his  bet,  Liver  looked  up  quickly,  then 
dropped  his  eyes,  and  observed  to  no  one  in  particu 
lar  :  "  When  a  fool  plays  like  er  fool,  he's  got  ter  have 
consid'able  fool's  luck  if  he's  go'n'ter  come  out  any 
ways  even." 

Some  of  the  men  laughed.  Dawlish  glowered,  but 
said  nothing  at  the  time,  only  watched  the  cards  as  the 
dealer  drew  them  from  the  box.  His  second  wager 
was  successful,  and  he  turned  to  Liver  with  a  self- 
satisfied  grin,  which  he  afterward  distributed  im 
partially  around  the  room. 

"  That's  the  kind  er  luck  what  I  was  talkin'  about," 
remarked  Liver. 

Again  the  men  laughed  their  approval.  Dawlish 
angrily  asked  Liver  what  in  something  he  knew  about 
it ;  whereupon  Liver  replied  saying  that  any  one  could 
tell  what  to  call  such  a  play  as  Dawlish  had  made, 
whether  he  knew  the  game  or  not.  Dawlish  lost  an 
other  bet,  and  Liver  chuckled  derisively.  He  offered 
to  deal  a  game  for  Dawlish  himself,  give  him  odds,  and 
waive  all  advantage  of  splits.  Dawlish  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  accept  this  offer  at  first.  Probably  he 
thought  that  it  placed  him  in  rather  a  ridiculous  light. 
But  the  loudly  expressed  sentiment  of  the  company 
was  unanimous,  and  Dawlish,  of  all  men,  could  not 
stand  against  that.  Besides,  the  odds  were  all  in  his 
favor.  At  last  he  gave  a  reluctant  assent. 

The  men  who  had  been  playing  hurriedly  cashed 
their  chips  or  pocketed  them ;  at  a  signal  from  Richie 

1 80 


Liver's  Responsibility 

the  dealer  laid  down  his  box  and  rose,  and  with  a 
happy  little  sigh  Liver  sank  into  the  vacant  seat. 
The  men  clustered  thickly  about  the  table,  peering 
over  one  another's  shoulders  in  order  to  get  a  better 
view. 

Slipping  the  cards  deftly  from  the  deal-box,  Liver 
divided  them  into  two  equal  parts  for  a  shuffle.  The 
movement  spoke  of  experience;  Dan  looked  at  the 
dealer,  and  they  both  smiled.  Liver  saw  that  smile. 
As  he  started  to  run  the  cards  together  they  fell  on 
the  table ;  half  of  them  faced.  He  picked  them  up  and 
awkwardly  shuffled  them,  taking  a  long  time  about  it. 
After  fumbling  with  the  box  he  handed  it  and  the 
shuffled  pack  to  the  dealer,  who  secured  the  cards  in 
their  place  and  returned  them. 

Once  more  Dan  grinned  knowingly.  "  I'll  take  the 
lookout  chair  for  the  kid  myself,"  he  said. 

Then  Liver  began  to  deal.  It  was  wonderful,  that 
deal,  but  it  was  most  immoral.  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
stop  it,  but  I  could  see  no  way  to  go  about  it  without 
exposing  Liver's  former  avocation,  and  that  I  had 
promised  not  to  do.  Liver  was  very  clumsy,— rather 
overdid  it,  I  thought,— but  no  one  appeared  to  notice 
anything  wrong.  Once  in  a  while  Dawlish  would  win 
a  bet.  Then  Liver  would  moisten  his  thumb,  labori 
ously  drag  a  card  from  the  box,  and  win  it  all  back 
again.  He  had  perfect  control  of  the  cards;  his 
clumsy,  long-continued  shuffle  seemed  to  have  given 
him  just  the  opportunity  he  needed.  Several  times 
Dawlish  hesitated  and  seemed  about  to  stop ;  but  the 
men  jeered,  and  he  continued  playing.  Finally  he 

181 


Sand  and  Cactus 

felt  in  his  pocket,  but  there  was  no  money  there. 
With  an  oath  he  flung  his  last  two  chips  on  the  ace. 
The  ace  lost,  and  the  play  was  ended. 

With  a  broad  smile  covering  most  of  his  counte 
nance,  Liver  rose  from  his  seat.  "  Beckon  this  'bout 
does  you,"  he  remarked  to  Dawlish,  affably.  "  I  '11 
keep  this  yer  boodle  fer  th'  oF  man,  so  him  an' 
Mary  they  won't  have  ter  hang  up  fer  their  eatin' 
er  starve  when  you  go  through  him  fer  all  he's  got. 
See?" 

At  first  Dawlish  looked  puzzled,  then  he  got  angry. 
"  That  there  was  a  brace  game,  then,"  he  cried. 

"  Sure,"  assented  Liver,  genially. 

The  men  roared.  Dawlish  was  furiously  angry. 
His  chin  quivered,  and  he  convulsively  opened  and 
closed  his  fists.  Though  his  lips  moved,  no  audible 
sound  did  he  utter.  He  dared  not  take  the  offensive 
against  Liver  in  that  place.  Such  a  move  would  have 
entailed  a  risk  to  which  Dawlish  was  not  inclined. 
Several  of  his  followers  gathered  about  him.  One 
or  two  of  them  were  Mexicans.  Liver  did  not  like 
Mexicans. 

"  So  long,  Dawlish,"  said  he,  stuffing  into  his  trousers 
pockets  the  gold  coins  he  had  won.  "  Eun  along,  now, 
'ith  them  greaser  frien's  er  yours,  if  they'll  have  you. 
You're  pretty  low  down,  though,  even  fer  a  greaser, 
an'  no  man  can't  say  no  more  than  that." 

One  of  the  Mexicans  raised  his  hand,  and  a  knife 
flashed  across  the  room  like  a  gleam  of  light.  Liver 
staggered  back,  stumbled,  and  fell.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  half  a  dozen  shots  filled  the  room  with  smoke 

182 


Liver's  Responsibility 

and  darkness,  for  every  light  went  out  instantly.  I 
dropped  to  the  floor.  Pistol-shots  were  winking  every 
where,  it  seemed  to  me,  their  flashes  growing  fainter 
and  redder  as  the  smoke  increased  in  thickness. 
From  where  Liver  lay,  his  six-shooter  sparkled  like  a 
firefly  in  the  grass. 

Hurrying  footsteps  crunched  on  the  broken  mdlpai 
of  the  road  outside.  No  one  entered  the  door,— it  is 
not  customary  to  enter  doors  in  Arizona  when  powder- 
smoke  is  coming  out  of  them,— but  the  canvas  sides  of 
the  saloon  were  ripped  with  knives,  and  the  fresh  air 
rushed  into  the  room,  dissipating  the  choking  fumes 
that  filled  it.  The  shooting  had  stopped.  Some  one 
struck  a  match  and  relighted  the  great  lamp  that 
hung  over  the  faro-tables.  The  flies  that  had  been 
disturbed  by  the  noise  settled  once  more,  blackening 
the  canvas  roof  with  their  countless  thousands. 

It  was  really  wonderful  what  a  wreck  the  shooting 
had  made  of  that  room.  Everything,  apparently,  that 
could  be  damaged  by  a  bullet  had  been  found  by  one. 
As  usual,  each  man  had  thrown  himself  flat  on  the 
ground  and  then  fired  on  the  assumption  that  his 
neighbors  were  standing.  No  one  was  hurt  except 
Liver.  He  lay  on  the  floor,  white  and  still,  his  empty 
pistol  still  gripped  in  his  hand. 

Some  of  the  men  gathered  around  Liver.  The  rest 
made  a  rush  for  the  Mexican,  but  he  had  disappeared. 
We  never  saw  him  again.  At  the  time  we  regretted 
this  considerably,  but  looking  at  it  from  his  stand 
point,  probably  it  was  better  as  it  was. 

For  some  time  we  could  not  bring  Liver  back  to 

183 


Sand  and  Cactus 

consciousness.  I  began  to  get  frightened  about  him, 
though  Dan  assured  me  that  nothing  serious  was  the 
matter.  "  Somebody  give  him  a  tunk  on  the  cabeza 
with  the  bar'l  of  a  six-shooter,  that's  all,"  said  he.  It 
struck  me  at  the  time  that  such  a  "  tunk "  might  be 
quite  serious  enough  in  itself,  but  doubtless  Liver  had 
escaped  very  fortunately,  for  the  knife,  in  passing 
through  his  clothing,  had  not  even  grazed  the  flesh. 
It  must  have  turned,  and  knocked  him  down  by  the 
blow  it  struck. 

Finally  Liver  came  to.  His  first  conscious  act  was 
to  replace  his  pistol  in  its  holster.  Then  he  tried  to 
stand,  and  discovered  that  he  had  turned  his  ankle  in 
falling,  and  that  it  was  badly  sprained.  We  carried 
him  home  and  put  him  to  bed  after  that.  I  cannot 
say  that  I  was  wholly  sorry  for  that  sprained  ankle— 
it  might  serve  to  keep  him  quiet  for  a  while. 

Liver  was  feverish  and  restless  that  night ;  he  tossed 
about  in  his  sleep,  muttering,  from  time  to  time,  dis 
connected  scraps  of  sentences.  I  was  very  tired,  and 
at  last,  without  undressing,  I  lay  down.  I  must  have 
fallen  immediately  into  an  unusually  sound  sleep,  from 
which  I  was  awakened  by  cries  that  seemed  to  me  to 
have  been  repeated  for  hours.  Gradually  I  realized 
that  dawn  had  just  come,  that  Liver  was  calling  to 
me,  and  that  some  one  was  knocking  wildly  at  the 
door.  It  was  Mary,  Dawlish's  wife,  who  knocked. 

"  Come  up  quick !  "  she  cried,  as  I  opened  the  door, 
and,  but  half  awake,  stood  stupidly  gazing  at  her. 
"He's  killin'  him — the  old  man.  Dawlish — my  man 
— is  killin'  him.  He's  half  drunk,  an'  wild  about  some 

184 


Liver's  Responsibility 

money  he  lost.  Maybe  he's  killed  him  already.  Oh, 
do  hurry,  quick !  " 

She  turned  and  fled  down  the  road.  Evidently  she 
was  rousing  the  town.  I  hurriedly  buckled  on  my 
pistol  and  spurs.  Liver  was  sitting  up  in  bed  and 
pulling  his  shirt  on  as  I  started  to  leave,  and  I  stopped 
and  ordered  him  to  lie  down  again,  pointing  out  to  him 
the  fact  that  he  could  not  even  bear  his  foot  in  a 
stirrup,  much  less  on  the  ground. 

"  Take  me  onter  the  veranda  an'  set  me  down,  then," 
he  pleaded.  "I  won't  move— honest.  Not  one 
wiggle.  'Twon't  take  no  time.  I'll  go  up  ter  the  oF 
man's  cabin  if  y'  don't— I'll  crawl  the  whole  way. 
Take  me  out  onter  the  porch !  " 

It  was  the  only  way  to  keep  him  still,  so  I  wrapped 
a  blanket  around  him  and  picked  him  up.  A  rifle 
was  leaning  against  the  wall,  and  as  we  passed  it 
Liver  grasped  the  barrel  and  dragged  it  out  behind  him 
as  I  carried  him  forth,  its  butt  dragging  on  the  floor. 

Richie  was  standing  before  my  door,  holding  his 
horse  and  mine,  both  of  them  saddled.  "Knowed 
you'd  hev  ter  look  out  fer  the  kid  before  you  started," 
he  explained.  "  You'll  want  yer  hoss,  so  I  shoved  yer 
leather  on." 

I  had  laid  Liver  down,  and  thanking  Dan,  I  swung 
into  the  saddle. 

As  I  rode  away,  I  glanced  at  Liver,  who  was  ex 
amining  the  rifle.  "  It's  all  right,"  he  sung  out ;  "  the 
magazine's  plum'  full."  He  waved  his  hand,  and 
availing  myself  of  the  permission  he  implied,  I  de 
parted. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Red  Hen  Hill  was  separated  from  the  rest  of  Aparejo 
by  a  deep  box  canon.  The  head  of  this  canon  was 
doubled  by  the  road,  so  that  in  order  to  reach  the 
Hypocrite's  house,  only  about  two  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  away  in  a  direct  line,  one  had  to  travel  nearly 
three  miles.  Around  this  trail  many  horsemen  were 
already  galloping.  Dan  and  I  followed,  finally  join 
ing  the  group  of  men  who  sat  on  their  horses  about 
the  Hypocrite's  door.  One  of  the  older  men,  who 
knew  something  of  surgery  in  a  rough  way,  came 
out  of  the  cabin  as  we  pulled  up. 

"  Yes,  the  Hypocrite's  alive— just  alive.  I'll  do  all 
I  kin  fer  him.  You  go  an'  get  that  Dawlish  man. 
Beat  up  the  country.  He  ain't  got  far." 

The  men  scattered  like  the  pieces  of  a  bursting 
shell.  Some  of  them  forced  their  horses  up  the  steep 
sides  of  the  hill  •  some  returned  to  scour  the  flat  land 
around  the  camp.  The  rest  of  us  went  along  the  road 
that  led  by  the  Hypocrite's  door,  hoping  to  gather 
some  information  from  the  scattered  settlers  who 
lived  along  its  length. 

"  That  cuss  can't  be  fur  off,"  said  Richie,  who  was 
riding  by  my  side.  "The  gal  come  round  by  the 
road,  an'  the  first  boys  that  started  off  must  'a'  got 
here  'bout  the  time  Dawlish  finished  with  the  poor 
ol'  galoot.  Dawlish  must  'a'  taken  to  the  hills,  or  else 
we'll  strike  him  som'w'er's  along  this  road  we're  on. 
Reckon  he  did,  fer  the— Lord!  what's  that?" 

"  That "  was  a  bullet— a  rifle-ball.  It  sung  over  our 
heads,  and  we  could  hear  it  strike  with  a  faint  plop 
of  flattening  lead  somewhere  on  the  rocks  made  in- 

1 86 


Liver's  Responsibility 

visible  to  us  by  the  overhanging  cliffs  above.  The 
report  followed  as  a  feeble  pop  from  across  the  canon. 
Another  ball  came  whining  over.  I  looked  across  the 
canon  at  the  house  I  had  just  left.  A  puff  of  pearly 
smoke  hung  in  front  of  my  veranda  and  dissolved, 
followed  by  the  shrill  note  of  a  third  bullet.  Evi 
dently  Liver  was  shooting,  and  it  was  hardly  sup- 
posable  that  he  was  shooting  without  having  a  reason 
for  it.  It  occurred  to  me  that  he  might  have  seen  the 
man  we  were  after,  when  there  was  a  shout  from  one 
of  the  men  who  had  ridden  up  the  hill  from  below. 
A  couple  of  shots  followed ;  then  some  stones  rolled 
down  the  steep  face  of  the  rock,  and  Dawlish  followed 
them,  landing  on  his  feet  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
not  twenty  yards  in  front  of  us. 

He  glanced  up  and  down  the  trail.  His  face  was 
drawn  and  set  with  hopeless  fear  for  his  forfeited  life. 
I  had  never  before  seen  such  a  face  5  certainly  I  wished 
I  might  never  see  another.  Above  and  on  both  sides 
his  path  was  blocked ;  his  only  clear  way  was  the  sheer 
descent  into  the  canon.  It  was  hardly  a  chance,  but 
such  as  it  was  he  took  it— from  both  sides  men  were 
riding  to  take  him.  Springing  across  the  road,  he 
swung  himself  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  For  one 
moment  we  could  see  a  hand  grasping  a  point  of  rock, 
then  it  shifted  its  hold  and  disappeared,  and  a  chorus 
of  pistol-shots  rattled  out.  One  man  slid  from  his 
horse,  and  disengaging  the  lariat  from  his  saddle, 
extended  the  loop,  and  leaning  over  the  cliff,  swung 
the  lass-rope  for  a  cast.  Two  more  shots  came  from 
my  veranda. 

187 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Suddenly  the  firing  ceased.  The  man  with  the  rope 
stopped  his  hand  in  mid-swing,  and  the  loop  wound 
itself  around  his  upraised  arm.  For  an  instant  there 
was  a  dead  silence,  then  I  heard  a  faint  splash  in  the 
waters  of  a  little  stream  that  ran  through  the  bottom 
of  the  canon. 

Dan  dismounted,  and  going  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
he  peered  down.  Then  he  climbed  to  his  horse's  back, 
and  without  a  word  started  at  a  lope  toward  the  vil 
lage. 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  hit,  Dan  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Dunno,"  he  answered  shortly ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
he  added :  "  Guess  we  won't  never  know  now.  It  was 
two  hundred  and  thirty  foot,  clear  fall." 

We  went  on  in  silence,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
end  of  our  journey  when  Dan  spoke  once  more. 
"That  was  damn  bad  shootin',"  he  said.  " There's 
enough  played-out  balls  stuck  around  on  that  mesa- 
face  to  salt  a  young  lead-mine." 

Dan  turned  off  in  the  direction  of  his  saloon,  and 
I  pushed  on  for  home. 

Liver  had  crawled  into  the  house,  and  as  I  entered 
it  he  was  sitting,  with  a  very  white  face,  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  still  nursing  the  rifle  on  his  knee. 

"  I  seen  it  all,"  he  called  out  as  I  came  in.  "  You 
can't  none  of  you  tell  me  nothin'  about  it.  I  seen  him 
before  you  did." 

From  this  speech  I  gathered  that  Liver  did  not 
wish  to  discuss  the  recent  occurrence.  His  nerves 
were  a  little  shaken,  I  think. 

I  got  him  to  relinquish  the  rifle  and  to  lie  down, 

188 


Liver's  Responsibility 

and  for  a  long  time  he  said  nothing,  but  kept  his  face 
hidden  in  his  folded  arms.  After  a  while  he  looked  up. 

"  I  reckon  I  must  'a'  missed  that  ther*  Dawlish,"  he 
said,  with  a  regretful  sigh. 

I  told  him  that  nobody  would  ever  know  now 
whether  he  had  or  not. 

"I  reckon  I  missed  him/7  Liver  repeated  sadly. 
"  He  dropped  jus'  as  I  fired  the  las'  time,  an'  I  saw 
where  the  bullet  struck  that  I  fired  before  that." 

Liver  seemed  to  take  it  very  much  to  heart.  I  tried 
to  cheer  him,  saying  that,  whether  he  had  missed  or 
not,  his  shooting  was  really  very  creditable,  at  that 
range  and  at  a  moving  object.  He  listened  absently, 
and  seemed  trying  to  wrestle  with  something  that  was 
on  his  mind. 

"  I— say— how's  th'  oP  man  now  ? "  he  asked  finally. 
At  last  it  was  out. 

I  had  not  thought  to  tell  him  of  the  Hypocrite's 
condition,  and  he  had  not  dared  to  inquire  for  fear  of 
the  answer  that  might  follow.  I  made  the  answer  as 
encouraging  as  I  could,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  com 
fort  him  any. 

"  'Twas  all  my  fault ! "  he  cried,  his  face  full  of 
trouble,  as  he  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  to  look  at 
me.  "Dawlish  done  it  'cause  I  made  him  mad.  I 
could  jus'  as  well  'a'  plunked  'im  ter  start  with  instead 
er  workin'  that  faro  lay-out ;  only  I's  afraid  it'd  queer 
me  'ith  th'  ol'  man.  I'd  oughter  'a'  done  it." 

Liver's  contrition  was  hardly  following  the  proper 
lines.  I  spoke  to  him  rather  sharply,  and  at  length 
managed  to  get  him  quiet.  He  said  scarcely  a  word 

189 


Sand  and  Cactus 

the  rest  of  the  morning.  Now  and  then,  as  one  of  the 
men  would  drop  in  and  give  us  some  news  of  the  Hypo 
crite,  Liver  would  ask  a  question  or  two,  but  that 
was  all. 

The  reports  of  the  Hypocrite's  condition  were  all 
much  the  same.  He  was  still  alive,  but  whether  he 
was  conscious  or  not,  no  one  could  tell.  "  He  jus'  lies 
thar  lookin'  at  that  gal,"  said  Dan,  who  brought  in 
most  of  the  reports.  "  She  ain't  never  left  him,  an' 
he  ain't  took  his  eyes  off  her,  not  once.  Don't  reckon 
the  poor  oP  cuss'l  last  long." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  message  came.  The  Hypo 
crite  had  rallied  somewhat.  He  was  conscious  now, 
and  had  asked  for  Liver— wanted  to  see  him.  For  a 
time  they  had  put  him  off,  thinking  that  the  wish 
was  merely  the  wandering  of  semi-delirium  j  but  he 
had  returned  to  it  with  such  persistence  that  it  was 
thought  best  to  humor  him.  I  hardly  liked  to  have 
Liver  go,  in  his  condition ;  already  there  had  been  far 
too  much  excitement.  I  could  see  no  way  out  of  it, 
however.  To  keep  him  would  have  been  much  the 
worse  of  the  two  courses,  even  leaving  the  Hypocrite 
entirely  out  of  the  question. 

A  rough  litter  was  soon  made  and  Liver  carefully 
laid  upon  it.  Four  men,  with  many  more  to  act  as 
relays,  carried  him  up  the  trail.  Then  I  went  down 
into  the  village  to  get  rid  of  myself  for  a  while.  I  had 
had  enough  of  horrors  for  one  day. 

It  was  still  light  when  I  returned.  Though  I  had 
not  expected  Liver  for  some  time  yet,  he  was  lying  on 
the  bed  when  I  came  in. 

190 


Liver's  Responsibility 

"  Here,"  lie  said,  as  lie  saw  me,  handing  to  me  as  lie 
spoke  a  folded  paper,  "  take  it.  He  said  you  was  to 
have  it.  Said  you'd  know  what  to  do  with  it.  It's 
settlin'  everythin'  about  Mary— me,  too,  he  says.  Says 
he  wants  me  ter  look  out  fer  her— wants  me  ter  go 
ter  school,  too.  Reckon  he  was  a  little  daffy  then. 
This  paper,  here,  it  tells  all  about  it.  Th'  oP  man  he 
talked  quite  a  while ;  then  he  give  me  the  paper  an' 
stopped  talking  an'  when  I  looked  ter  see  what  was 
up,  he'd— well,  he'd  gone  out,  that's  all." 

Liver's  hand  was  trembling,  and  he  looked  at  me 
with  an  air  that  was  evidently  intended  to  be  most 
indifferent,  and,  except  for  the  twitching  corners  of 
his  mouth,  he  really  did  it  very  well. 

What  followed  was  not  at  all  like  Liver.  For  some 
time  he  sat  looking  at  me ;  then  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
he  tried  to  keep  steady :  "  Say,  d'yer  know,  he  was  an 
awful  good  ol'  man.  Dead  square,  all  through.  He 
was  awful  white  to  me." 

Liver's  mouth  twitched  more  and  more.  Suddenly 
throwing  himself  face  downward  on  the  bed,  he  broke 
down  entirely,  and  cried  like  a  child,  as  he  was. 


191 


STATION  347 +57-6 


STATION  347  +  57-6 


STANDING  on  a  little  bald  excrescence  of  a  hill,  young 
Powers,  the  assistant  engineer  in  charge,  waited 
for  his  men.  Powers  was  hot  and  dry  and  hun 
gry.  No  food,  however,  was  to  be  had  until  the  corps 
should  have  come  up,  and  though  the  men  were  work 
ing  toward  the  long  red-and- white  pole  that  Powers 
had  stuck  into  the  summit  of  the  hill,  as  men  do  work 
when  their  overdue  dinner  is  at  the  end  of  their  labors, 
some  time  must  elapse  before  they  could  reach  the 
knoll.  This  made  Powers  cross,  as  well.  To  the  north 
and  south,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  a  thou 
sand  miles  farther,  stretched  the  yellow  desert  of 
southern  Arizona,  split  into  halves  by  the  green  valley 
of  the  Gila.  The  engineer  looked  wearily  over  the 
dismal  view.  He  turned  to  a  cottonwood-tree  to 
which  his  horse  was  tied,  leisurely  slackened  the 
saddle-girths,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  shade. 

He  could  hear  that  the  sounds  of  the  working  men, 
which  drifted  faintly  through  the  hot,  still  air,  grew 
plainer  as  the  party  neared  him.  Once  they  stopped 
for  a  minute,  and  Powers  heard  the  sharp  report  of  a 
pistol  that  roused  in  him,  for  an  instant,  a  languid 

195 


Sand  and  Cactus 

interest.  It  was  not  repeated.  Probably  it  was  only 
one  of  the  boys  shooting  at  a  jack-rabbit,  or  a  coyote, 
or  something. 

Soon,  followed  by  an  axeman,  Carter,  the  big  head 
chainman,  toiled  up  the  steep  little  rise,  the  chain 
clanking  behind  him  as  he  dragged  it  over  the  stone 
of  the  hillside. 

"Take  off  the  plus,  will  you?"  he  shouted  to  his 
mate  on  the  other  end  of  the  chain. 

"  Three  four  seven  plus  five  seven  point  six,"  came 
in  a  monotonous  drawl  from  where  the  rear  chainman 
was  concealed  in  the  scrub. 

"Three  four  seven  plus  five  seven  point  six,"  re 
peated  Carter.  "Got  it?" 

The  engineer  nodded  as  he  entered  the  figures  in 
his  note-book. 

"  Say,"  Carter  went  on,  "  you  know  that  horse-thief 
what  swiped  them  bronch's  of  Unc'  George  Marden's, 
don't  you  ?  Him  that  the  boys  is  out  chasm'." 

"  Haven't  the  pleasure,"  murmured  Powers,  wearily. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  way— Lord,  no ! "  cried  the 
literal  Carter.  "  But  you  know  there  was  a  thief." 

"I  know  that  Harden  lost  some  horses,  or  said 
he  did.  There  hasn't  been  anything  else  talked 
about  in  the  camp  since  they  were  missed.  I'm  sick 
of  it." 

"  He's  more  sick  of  it  when  they  ketch  him,  then," 
responded  Carter.  "What  I'm  sayin'  is—"  He  in 
terrupted  himself  in  order  to  pull  out  the  rod  from 
where  it  stuck  in  the  ground.  Then  he  marked  a 
stake  to  drive  in  its  place. 

196 


Station  347+  57.6 


"  You  were  about  to  say— ! "  suggested  Powers, 
mildly. 

"  Yes.  What  I'm  sayin'  is  that  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  that  thief  wasn't  camped  roun'  here  som'w'er's.  I 
come  along  o'  two  horses  back  there  a  ways.  One  had 
croaked  f  er  sure,  and  the  other  was  just  about  makin' 
up  his  min'  ter  quit,  so  I  helped  him  out.  Likely  you 
heard  me  shoot." 

"  I  did.  But  what  makes  you  think  that  the  thief's 
camped  about  here  ?  " 

"  Them  horses.  They  was  picketed ;  that  makes  it 
sure  that  somebody  's  here,  where  nobody  wouldn't 
have  no  call  to  be  if  ther*  business  was  on  the  dead, 
an'  them  bein'  so  killed  up  makes  it  seem  prob'le  that 
—here  comes  the  grub." 

The  big  six-horse  wagon  crashed  through  the  chap 
arral,  bearing  the  transit  party  and  the  food.  A  Mex 
ican  brush-cutter,  his  machete  sheathed  by  his  side, 
and  several  axemen  followed  it.  The  seven  horses 
were  quickly  unbridled  and  fed.  Throughout  the 
place  there  was  a  pleasant  stir  of  preparation.  Carter 
went  to  the  wagon  and  lifted  out  the  two  big  boxes  of 
food  with  three  five-gallon  canteens  piled  on  top  of 
them.  Powers  watched  him  admiringly.  Though 
neither  small  nor  weak,  he  could  not  have  begun  to 
do  that.  Then  the  stir  settled  to  silence,  as  the  men 
devoted  themselves  to  the  food  before  them. 

"  I  seen  Red  Willis  an'  Gappy  Lee  early  this  fore 
noon,"  said  the  back  flagman,  at  last,  speaking  with 
his  mouth  full.  "  They  was  shovin'  fer  keeps  across 
the  lower  ford,  hot  foot  after  that  ther'  hawse-thief. 

i97 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  rest  er  the  posse  is  comin'  down  from  above, 
an'  they  think  they've  got  him  ketched  between  'em. 
Can't  be  much  good  in  his  business,  stayin'  right  aroun' 
here.  Don't  seem  to  have  no  savvy,  somehow." 

"What  am  I  tellin'  you?"  asked  Carter,  trium 
phantly,  of  the  engineer.  "He's  camped  roun'  here, 
an'  he  stays  here.  Them  dead  hosses  was  his, 
so  he  swipes  them  what  belongs  to  Unc'  George 
to  make  up  his  team.  What's  the  matter  with  us 
takin'  a  hand  after  dinner  an'— good  Lord,  what's 
that?" 

On  the  edge  of  the  weedy  thicket  in  front  of  him 
there  stood  two  children.  The  elder,  a  girl  of  seven 
or  eight  years,  held  the  hand  of  a  boy  just  old  enough 
to  walk  alone.  The  men  stared  in  genuine  amaze 
ment,  turning  around  as  they  sat,  or  dodging  forward, 
in  order  to  get  a  view  unobstructed  by  the  heads  of 
their  neighbors.  For  a  moment,  seeing  the  sensation 
caused  by  their  advent,  the  children  held  bashfully 
back,  giving  time  for  the  men  to  notice  that  the 
visitors  were  white  children,  and  of  a  kind  seldom 
found  on  the  frontier.  They  wore  shoes  and  stock 
ings,  and  their  clothing  was  of  good  quality  and 
clean.  Though  the  face  of  the  boy  was  dirty,  it  was 
as  boys'  faces  generally  are ;  the  dirt  was  evidently  of 
a  late  deposit,  and  in  itself  was  indicative  of  recent 
washing.  With  many  invitations,  made  as  seductive 
as  was  possible  for  the  rough  men  who  offered  them, 
the  children  were  enticed  over  to  where  the  engineer 
corps  was  sitting.  The  small  maiden  scanned  the 
faces  before  her  with  deliberation  and  great  gravity, 

198 


Station  347+  57.6 


then  walked  around  the  circle  of  men  to  the  big  chain- 
man  and  seated  herself  at  his  side.  No  one  knew  just 
how  to  open  a  conversation,  and  an  embarrassed 
silence  fell  on  the  group. 

"  What  do  they  like  to  eat  ? "  somebody  asked.  The 
back  flag  suggested  jelly.  Bread-and-butter  was 
necessary  as  a  foundation,  the  transitman  said ;  other 
wise  it  would  make  them  ill. 

The  engineer  said  that  it  would  make  them  ill  any 
how.  That  was  why  they  ate  it ;  it  was  so  bad  for 
them. 

As  he  spoke,  he  passed  the  suggested  articles  of 
food  to  Carter,  who  seemed  by  tacit  understanding  to 
be  the  official  host,  and  two  thick  slices  of  bread,  well 
spread  with  butterine  and  piled  high  with  the  canned 
jelly,  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  children.  The 
boy  at  once  began  to  eat  his  slice,  leaving,  as  he  did 
so,  most  of  the  jelly  on  the  outside  of  his  face.  The 
girl  held  hers  untouched.  Again  an  awkward  pause 
fell  on  the  company.  It  was  broken,  at  last,  by  the 
small  damsel. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  she  asked  Carter. 

Carter  answered  promptly  and  in  full,  as  though  he 
were  being  examined  by  a  lawyer. 

"  What's  yourn?"  he  inquired,  in  return. 

"  Nan,"  she  replied.  Then  she  looked  Carter  care 
fully  over  and  remarked :  "  I  like  you." 

The  men  laughed.  Nan  regarded  them  with  looks 
of  grave  displeasure.  Carter  flushed  crimson,  under 
his  tan,  and  the  men  laughed  more  than  ever.  To 
cover  his  embarrassment  the  chainman  asked  Nan 

199 


Sand  and  Cactus 

why  she  didn't  eat  her  bread-and- jelly.     Didn't  she 
like  it? 

Yes,  Nan  liked  bread-and- jelly— more  especially 
jelly— very  much  indeed.  But  she  was  keeping  it, 
she  explained,  until  she  could  divide  it  with  her 
mother.  On  being  assured  that  her  mother  would 
also  be  supplied  with  as  much  jelly  as  she  might  care 
for,  Nan's  attention  at  once  became  absorbed  in  the 
piece  that  she  held. 

"  Where  is  your  mother,  Nan  ? "  asked  Powers. 

Nan  was  too  busy  to  speak,  but  she  made  a  motion 
with  her  head  toward  the  direction  from  which  she 
had  come. 

"  An'  yer  pa,  is  he  there,  too  ? n  inquired  Carter. 

Nan  shook  her  head.  She  could  not  answer  more 
fully  just  then,  but  as  soon  as  articulate  speech  was 
possible,  she  said  that  her  father  had  gone  away,  but 
was  soon  coming  back.  When  did  he  go?  It  was 
yesterday,  the  day  before  yesterday.  Nan's  friends 
puzzled  over  this  chronological  statement  for  some 
time.  Finally  Carter  said : 

"  I  figger  it  out  that  she  meant  about  three  days 
gone.  Jus'  about  three  days." 

As  he  spoke,  he  looked  narrowly  at  the  engineer. 
Powers  could  see  how  the  chainman's  mind  was  run 
ning.  It  was  three  days  since  the  horses  had  been 
missed. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Powers  in  Spanish,  in  order 
that  the  child  might  not  understand.  "  Horse-thieves 
do  not  travel  about  with  their  wives.  Neither  do  they 
have  children  like  these  children." 

200 


Station  347-^  57.6 

"Quien  sabef"  replied  the  rodman.  "Anyhow,  this 
ain't  no  place  f  er  a  woman  alone  with  two  kids.  She 
o lighter  be  at  the  big  camp.  Beckon  I'll  go  over  an' 
see  'f  I  can't  be  some  good." 

Powers  looked  uncertain  as  Carter  left  his  place  and 
forced  his  way  through  the  undergrowth  that  con 
cealed  the  camp  of  the  children's  mother.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  returned,  looking  puzzled. 

"  I  couldn't  say  nothin'  to  'er  that  was  worth  sayin'," 
he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  to  the  engineer.  "  I  told  her 
that  Nan  an'  t'other  kid  was  safe  over  here  with  us ; 
an'  she  said  she  knowed  it,  an'  don't  let  'em  bother  us, 
an'  sen'  'em  back  soon,  please,  an'  thank  you,  an'  so 
on,  but  the  way  she  talked  meant :  '  You  min'  yer  own 
business/  She  was  polite,  though— dead  polite.  She 
wasn't  like  none  er  the  women  you'll  fin'  aroun'  here. 
But  I  couldn't  say  no  more,  somehow— it  was  all  in 
the  way  she  talked.  But  this  ain't  no  place  fer  her. 
Her  camp's  seen  the  kettle  bottom,  an'  they  hadn't  no 
sort  of  a  proper  outfit  to  start  on.  I  reckon  you'd 
better  go  'n'  try,  Mr.  Powers.  Tell  her  any  good  lie 
you  c'n  think  of.  Them  kids  and  her  they  can't  stay 
here." 

Powers  rose  reluctantly.  "  We  can't  take  the  woman 
by  force,"  he  said,  dusting  off  his  riding-breeches.  "  I 
suppose  you're  satisfied  now  that  your  other  notion 
was  off,  aren't  you  ? " 

"  Quien  sabe  f  "  responded  Carter.  "  But  a]l  the 
same,  they  oughter  not  stay  here." 

Powers  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  departed,  fol 
lowing  the  line  of  bent  weeds  that  indicated  the  course 

201 


Sand  and  Cactus 

pursued  by  the  chainman.  The  camp  was  much  closer 
than  he  had  supposed ;  he  came  upon  it  almost  imme 
diately.  It  was  rather  a  comfortless  little  camp— one 
that  told  plainly  of  inexperienced  hands.  Its  equip 
ment  was  all  new  and  expensive  and  unsuitable.  In 
the  shadow  of  the  badly  pitched  tent  sat  Nan's  mother. 
At  first  she  did  not  hear  Powers's  approach,  and  her 
back,  as  she  sat,  was  toward  him.  It  was  a  back 
utterly  out  of  keeping  with  its  surroundings.  Also, 
the  gown  that  covered  it  was  both  well  fitting  and 
well  made.  Then  she  heard  him  and,  rising,  turned. 
Her  face,  though  pinched  and  worn,  was  young  and 
pretty. 

Powers  advanced  a  few  steps  and  paused.  The 
woman  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  well-bred  surprise 
—as  a  lady  into  whose  house  some  one  had  forced  a 
way  might  regard  the  intruder.  Powers  lifted  his 
hat. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  began  awkwardly.  "  Your 
little  daughter  came  over  to  us  just  now  and  said  that 
you  were  alone  in  the  camp  here.  It  isn't  safe.  I  don't 
want  to  appear  intrusive,  but  really,  you  ought  not  to 
stay  here." 

"  You're  very  kind,"  she  rejoined  coldly,  "  but  my 
husband  is  away,  and  expects  to  find  us  here  on  his 
return.  We  shall  go  on  then." 

At  one  side  of  the  little  clearing,  out  of  the  woman's 
sight,  the  men,  who  had  followed  Powers,  were  stand 
ing  in  the  edge  of  the  brush.  Carter  held  Nan, 
perched  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  can  leave  a  note  for  your  husband,  pinned  to 
202 


Station  347  +  57.6 


that  tree,  where  he  can't  help  but  find  it,"  urged  the 
engineer.  "We'll  take  all  the  things  you  want  up 
to  the  home  camp,  and  you'll  be  quite  safe  there.  All 
manner  of  things  might  happen  if  it  was  known  that 
you  were  here  alone,  and  it  must  become  known, 
sooner  or  later.  Your  husband  has  been  detained, 
somehow.  Why,  it  may  be  days  before  he  comes  back ; 
weeks,  possibly." 

The  woman  looked  troubled.  l  i  He  should  have  been 
back  before  this,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "When  he 
went  away  he  said  that  he  would  only  be  gone  one  day, 
or  two  at  most.  It's  four  days  now.  Our  horses  got 
ill,  and  one  of  them  died,  and  he  went  to  get  others." 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  men;  they  looked  at 
one  another  and  shook  their  heads.  Carter  lifted  Nan 
in  his  arms.  Even  Powers  now  had  little  doubt  that 
Nan's  father  and  the  horse-thief  were  the  same  j  there 
fore  he  redoubled  the  urgency  of  his  plea.  Something 
in  his  face  must  have  showed  that  all  was  not  right. 
Wriggling  to  the  ground,  Nan  ran  to  her  mother,  who 
rested  one  hand  on  the  child's  shoulder.  A  twig 
snapped  under  the  foot  of  the  transitman ;  the 
woman  heard  it  and  turned.  She  saw  the  men  look 
ing  at  her  with  curiosity  or  pity.  Again  she  turned 
her  eyes  on  Powers,  who  flushed  under  her  gaze. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  she  asked.  "Do  you 
know  anything  that  has  happened  to  him  ?  Tell  me, 
quick !  Is  anything  wrong  ? "  The  hand  that  rested 
on  Nan's  shoulder  clinched  and  opened  convulsively 
as  she  was  speaking.  Powers,  confused,  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  then  shook  his  head. 
203 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  No ;  I  know  nothing  about  him,"  he  answered. 

Her  mouth  twitched  in  spite  of  her  attempts  to 
control  it.  Suddenly  she  broke  down  under  the  strain. 
Covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  sank  on  the 
camp-stool  from  which  she  had  just  risen,  and  began 
to  cry  hysterically. 

"  They've  taken  him,"  she  gasped  between  her  sobs. 
"  They  must  have  taken  him !  You  know  they  have, 
and  you  won't  tell  me.  That's  why  you  look  at  me 
so.  If  they  haven't  taken  him,  why  isn't  he  here? 
And  we  came  so  far !  " 

Powers  stood  helpless  and  embarrassed.  There 
was  a  little  murmur  of  sympathy  from  the  men,  but 
one  of  the  axemen  remarked  audibly : 

"  Sure,  it's  none  so  far  they've  come.  She  seems  to 
be  on  to  the  whole—"  He  got  no  further  with  his 
speech,  for  Carter  prodded  him  into  silence.  Powers 
violently  fanned  himself  with  his  pith  helmet. 

"I  hope  you'll  believe  me  when  I  say  I  don't 
know  anything  about  your  husband,  one  way  or  an 
other,"  he  said,  as  the  paroxysm  partially  wore  itself 
out,  and  the  woman  became  somewhat  more  calm. 
"  I  haven't  heard  of  his  being  taken— never  heard  that 
there  was  such  a  man  until  now.  At  all  events,  no 
one  had  taken  anybody  when  we  left  the  camp  this 
morning.  Is  his  accuser  around  here  anywhere  ?  " 

She  was  still  crying,  and  her  answer  seemed  half 

mechanical :  "  No.  Back  in ,  back  where  we  came 

from.  They  said  he  took  money  that  belonged  to  the 
firm.  But  he  didn't— oh,  he  didn't !  "  Nan  was  cry 
ing,  too,  her  face  hidden  in  her  mother's  skirts.  Step- 

204 


Station  347  +  57.6 

ping  forward,  Carter  touched  her  gently,  but  Nan 
wiggled  her  shoulder  in  a  way  that  indicated  a  desire 
to  be  left  alone.  The  men  had  gradually  drawn 
nearer,  making  a  ring  around  the  woman  and  Powers. 

Suddenly  the  Mexican  brush-cutter  sprang  away 
from  the  group,  and  appeared  to  listen  intently. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  asked  Powers. 

" Escuche— e— en!"  screamed  the  Mexican,  motion 
ing  for  silence. 

From  the  direction  of  the  home  camp,  four  miles 
away,  came  the  faintly  shrill  blast  of  a  steam- whistle. 
Another  blast  followed  it,  and  still  another.  Then 
there  was  a  pause,  and  the  whistle  began  again.  The 
engineer  counted  each  distant  scream  as  it  floated 
down  the  river  valley :  "  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six." 

As  though  the  last  were  a  command,  the  men  scat 
tered,  plunging  through  the  undergrowth  to  the  noon 
day  camp  they  had  just  left.  Powers  turned  to  the 
woman. 

" There's  no  time  to  waste;  you  must  come  with 
us,  and  come  now.  There's  danger  of  some  kind — I 
don't  know  what.  That  was  the  signal— that  whistle. 
Come  !  "  The  woman  hesitated.  There  was  a  shim 
mering  crash  over  the  high,  black  cliffs  on  their  east, 
followed  by  a  low,  crashing  roar. 

"The  Wolfeley's  gone  out— the  dam— and  the 
water's  coming  down,"  continued  Powers,  sharply,— 
"  down  on  us  !  Come  away ;  do  you  hear  ? " 

Confused  by  the  sudden  alarm,  the  woman  looked 
about  her  helplessly.  Carter  came  crashing  through 
the  brush.  "  This  ain't  no  time  to  talk,"  said  he,  and 
205 


Sand  and  Cactus 

picking  up  the  woman,  who  still  held  Nan  in  her  arms, 
he  ran  quickly  back  with  his  double  burden. 

The  horses  had  scented  the  danger,  as  horses  will, 
and  were  plunging  furiously,  as  many  hands,  to  an 
accompaniment  of  oaths  and  sounding  blows,  buckled 
and  hooked  with  fear-inspired  celerity.  The  Mexican, 
saddling  the  engineer's  horse  with  that  readiness  which 
is  the  birthright  of  his  race,  mounted  and  started  to 
ride  away.  As  he  passed,  Powers  drew  a  pistol  and 
cocked  and  levelled  it.  Carter,  who  had  carefully 
placed  Nan  and  her  mother  in  the  wagon,  sprang 
forward,  and,  lifting  the  Mexican  from  the  saddle, 
threw  him  heavily  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay 
stunned. 

"  Push  for  the  rise  on  the  other  side  of  the  river," 
Powers  shouted  to  the  driver.  "This  flat's  three 
miles  wide." 

The  horses  dug  their  toe-calks  into  the  ground,  as 
the  driver  curled  his  long  lash  around  their  bodies ; 
the  wagon  strained  and  creaked  and  slowly  started, 
the  men  climbing  into  their  places  as  it  went.  After 
handing  the  engineer  his  mount,  Carter  picked  up  the 
unconscious  Mexican,  threw  him  into  the  moving 
wagon,  and  vaulted  after. 

There  was  no  time  to  look  for  a  road.  The  team 
forced  its  way  in  a  labored  trot  through  the  under 
growth,  toward  the  river.  Powers  picked  up  a  transit- 
rod  and  broke  it  across  his  knee,  retaining  the  thicker 
end,  then  swung  into  the  saddle  and  spurred  after 
the  departing  team. 

It  had  reached  the  end  of  the  chaparral  when  he 
206 


Station  347  +  57.6 

caught  it,  and  was  working  across  the  muddy  flat. 
The  whip  was  cracking  like  pistol-shots,  and  Powers 
beat  the  lead-horses  with  his  stick.  They  broke 
into  a  lumbering  gallop. 

Half  a  mile  above  them  the  river  made  a  sharp 
turn.  Around  this  turn  there  crept  the  point  of  a 
wedge  of  water,  so  covered  with  debris  that  it  looked 
as  though  the  river-bed  itself  were  moving. 

"  That's  the  fore  foot  er  the  flood,"  remarked  Carter, 
calmly.  "The  river's  twistin'  makes  it  come  slant 
wise  like  that.  The  bulk  of  it'll  foller  in  a  wave. 
It's  right  roun'  the  corner,  there,  an'  it'll  ketch  up 
when  it  gets  outer  the  straight.  If  it  hits  us  we're 
sure  done.  We  ain't  got  no  time  to  stop  an'  take 
tea." 

The  water  in  the  narrow  channel  was  running  as 
placidly  as  though  all  were  as  usuaL  The  wagon 
plunged  in  and  jerked  out,  then  ran  smoothly  over 
the  level  sand  on  the  other  side.  A  hundred  yards 
above  a  tongue  of  rock  jutted  into  the  river-bed.  As 
the  toe  of  the  flood  reached  this  point  the  covering  of 
debris  was  arrested  for  a  moment,  and  the  water  crept 
out  from  under  it  as  melted  lead,  when  poured,  creeps 
from  beneath  its  spread  of  dross.  An  instant  later 
water  was  swirling  around  the  spinning  wheels  of  the 
wagon,  and  the  horses,  still  galloping,  were  going 
hock  deep  through  the  mud-thickened  fluid.  A  dash 
of  spray,  thrown  high  in  the  air,  glanced  over  the  top 
of  the  cliffs,  and  around  the  bend  above  the  fugitives 
there  came,  with  the  speed  of  an  express-train,  a  rus 
tling,  whispering  terrace  of  water. 

207 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  ground  sloped  gently  upward ;  the  water  rose 
rapidly,  but  the  speed  of  the  horses  kept  it  from 
greatly  gaining.  Ahead  of  them  a  steep  bank  had  to 
be  climbed  before  they  could  reach  the  mesa  trail 
and  safety.  The  lead-horses  climbed  the  rise  like 
cats;  the  other  two  spans  stuck,  scrambling  and 
striving,  on  the  face  of  the  bank,  held  back  by  the 
weight  of  the  heavy  wagon  which  hung  to  their 
traces.  Powers  beat  the  leaders  frantically;  the 
teamster  had  risen  from  his  seat  and,  with  the  full 
sweep  of  body  and  arm,  was  towelling  the  wheelers 
with  doubled  thong.  The  wagon  gained  a  little, 
slipped  back,  and  gained  again.  Several  of  the  men 
jumped  to  the  ground  and,  working  their  feet  into 
the  slippery  clay  of  the  bank,  grasped  the  spokes  and 
tried  to  turn  the  wheels.  Carter  dropped  over  the 
tail-board  and  braced  his  back  against  it,  pushing 
with  all  his  enormous  strength.  The  horses  snorted 
and  struggled.  The  wagon  gained  a  trifle. 

Then,  with  a  crashing  roar,  the  wave  rushed  by. 
It  struck  the  rear  end  of  the  wagon,  flooding  and 
lifting  and  turning  it  nearly  at  right  angles  with  the 
fore  part.  A  floating  log  drove  against  a  wheel, 
ground  itself  aside,  and  struck  Carter  heavily  on  the 
head,  sweeping  him  down  like  one  of  the  flecks  of 
yellow  foam.  The  engineer  wheeled  his  horse  and 
spurred  down  the  bank,  hoping  that  he  might  be  able 
to  intercept  the  floating  body,  and  arrived  in  time  to 
see  Carter's  drenched  head  appear  above  the  surface 
under  the  lee  of  a  bowlder,  close  to  the  shore.  By 
the  time  Powers  had  reached  him  he  was  on  land. 

208 


Station  34.7  +  57.6 


Blood  was  flowing  from  a  cut  on  his  forehead,  and 
he  appeared  dazed  as  he  started,  in  a  staggering  run, 
for  the  higher  ground.  Slipping  loose  a  stirrup, 
Powers  thrust  it  into  the  chainman's  hand,  and  partly 
running,  partly  dragged,  he  made  his  way  up  the 
slope. 

For  a  moment,  as  the  flood  struck  the  wagon,  it 
had  relieved  the  strain  on  the  horses.  The  fore 
wheels  hung,  undecided,  on  the  edge  of  the  bank, 
then  passed  reluctantly  over,  and  the  panting  team 
dragged  their  load  up  the  trail  winding  steeply, 
through  a  rift  in  the  cliffs,  on  to  the  mesa  beyond, 
out  of  reach  of  the  still  rising  freshet. 

On  reaching  the  level  mesa-land,  the  horses  stopped 
of  their  own  accord.  Nan's  small  brother  lifted  his 
head  from  the  arms  of  the  transitman,  where  it  had 
been  resting,  also  opened  his  mouth,  from  which 
there  presently  issued  a  long,  dry  roar.  It  acted  as 
a  relief  on  the  overstrained  nerves  of  the  men,  and 
they  broke  into  loud  guffaws  as,  one  by  one,  they 
dropped  from  the  wagon  to  the  ground.  Nan  sat  up 
and,  looking  about  her,  smiled  faintly.  Her  mother  lay 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  white,  drenched,  and  still. 

"  Shut  up  that  fool  row,  an'  help,  can't  you  ?  "  cried 
Carter,  angrily,  "  This  yere  lady's  swounded.  Gimme 
that  canteen." 

"  She'll  come  around  all  right  in  a  minute.  Don't 
let  her  see  that  bloody  face  of  yours  when  she  comes 
to.  It'll  frighten  her  worse  than  ever,"  said  Powers. 
"  Go  and  wash  the  cut,  and  tie  it  up.  Here,  take  this," 
—extending,  as  he  spoke,  a  handkerchief  to  the  chain- 
209 


Sand  and  Cactus 

man.     Carter  felt  of  his  head,  and  then  looked  won- 
deringly  at  his  reddened  fingers. 

UI  didn't  know  I  were  hurt,"  said  he.  "How'd  it 
come  to  be  ?  n 

"  Never  mind.  Go  away/'  rejoined  the  other,  im 
patiently.  "Go  and  tie  it  up.  She's  coming  to— 
don't  you  see  ? " 

The  woman  lifted  her  head,  and  then,  with  a  sigh, 
once  more  became  unconscious.  Powers  was  sprin 
kling  her  face  with  water  from  a  canteen.  With 
roughly  expressed  solicitude,  the  men  gathered  about 
her.  The  roar  of  the  little  boy  sank  into  a  fright 
ened  whine  ;  Nan,  also,  began  to  cry. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Powers,  finally.  "  She  won't  come 
out  of  it.  Get  in  and  push  for  home.  Perhaps  the 
women  can  do  something  for  her — we  can't,  anyhow. 

"She  ain't  drowned,  nor  yet  she  ain't  hurt,"  said 
Carter,  climbing  once  more  to  his  place.  "  Somethin's 
dead  wrong,  fer  sure.  Maybe  jus'  done  up  by  the 
scare,  though.  Whoop  them  plugs  along,  an'  let's 
get  home." 

The  horses  started  readily.  The  engineer  had 
mounted  and  was  cantering  alongside  the  wagon, 
watching  Carter  as  he  bathed  the  forehead  of  the  un 
conscious  woman.  Still,  she  did  not  stir. 

" Can't  you  get  those  horses  along?"  called  Powers 
to  the  teamster.  "  This  is  no  funeral.  Push  them,  I 
say!  I'll  go  on  ahead  and  get  things  ready.  You 
keep  moving."  He  bent  forward  and  set  his  spurs. 
His  horse  sprang  away,  passing  out  of  sight  behind 
a  point  of  rock. 

210 


Station  347  +  57.6 


As  the  party  rounded  the  point  of  mesa  that  con 
cealed  the  big  construction  camp.  Powers  was  waiting 
in  the  gorge  of  the  trail,  pointing  toward  a  low  stone 
house  near  the  cliff.  One  of  the  contractors  lived 
there,  and  the  contractor's  kindly-faced  wife  stood  in 
the  doorway.  The  wagon  whirled  up  to  the  house 
and  came  to  a  stand.  Carter  slid  to  the  ground, 
holding  in  his  arms  the  lifeless  form  of  Nan's  mother. 
The  two  children  were  handed  out,  and,  taking  them 
both,  the  contractor's  wife  followed  Carter  closely  as 
he  passed  into  the  house. 

With  solemn  shakes  of  their  heads,  the  men 
watched  the  group  as  it  disappeared,  then  descended 
stiffly,  one  by  one,  and  joined  the  crowd  of  their 
fellows  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  that  formed,  at  this 
point,  one  of  the  jaws  of  a  canon  through  which  the 
river  ran.  Many  questions  were  asked  as  to  their 
meeting  with  the  flood,  but  the  coming  of  the  woman 
and  children,  an  event  which  ordinarily  would  \aave 
thrown  the  camp  into  a  fever  of  curiosity,  was,  to 
Powers's  great  relief,  passed  over  as  an  incident  of 
the  day's  adventures,  and  was  suffered,  for  the  time, 
to  rest.  There  had  been  too  many  casualties  and 
narrow  escapes  that  morning  to  allow  the  people  of 
the  camp  to  think  of  other  things.  Even  the  horse- 
thief  was  temporarily  forgotten. 

A  few  feet  below  them  rushed  the  water,  roaring 
and  twisting  through  its  narrow  channel,  and  bearing 
on  its  surface  of  fretted  brown  the  trunks  of  trees, 
brought  from  far  above,  and  the  bodies  of  drowned 
cattle.  Save  for  the  long  cableway  which  hung  help- 
21  I 


Sand  and  Cactus 

lessly  over  the  turbid  stream,  and  the  shattered  re 
mains  of  a  pile-driver  resting  where  it  had  been 
thrown  on  a  shelf  of  rock,  the  great  works  had  disap 
peared.  Occasionally  a  heavy  beam,  wrenched  from 
the  bolt  that  had  held  it  to  the  now  submerged  piling, 
would  rise  to  the  surface,  throw  half  its  length  in  the 
air,  and  vanish  down  the  stream. 

Then  the  river  began  to  fall.  With  a  rapidity 
second  only  to  the  rise,  the  water  lowered  its  level. 
It  left  on  the  black  face  of  the  cliffs  a  brown  band  of 
silt,  which  turned,  as  it  dried  in  the  torrid  sun,  to  a 
light  gray.  Here  and  there,  against  corners  of  the 
rock,  it  deposited  confused  piles  of  drift.  Then  some 
of  the  higher  hillocks  on  the  broad  flats  below  the 
canon  began  to  show  their  heads  as  islands.  The 
current  became  less  rapid.  A  trail  which  wound 
along  the  face  of  the  mesa  was  uncovered,  and  along 
this  trail,  presently,  a  man  came  slowly  riding.  His 
horse  was  wounded;  both  the  animal  and  his  rider 
wore  the  air  of  utter  collapse,  caused  by  long  and 
violent  exertion. 

"  It's  Cappy  Lee,"  said  some  one"  in  the'  watching 
crowd.  "  Lord,  he's  sure  been  up  against  it— look  at 
him ! » 

Slowly  the  horseman  made  his  way  up  the  steep 
path  to  the  mesa.  He  was  at  once  surrounded  by 
questioning  men,  and  a  dozen  flasks  were  offered  him. 
He  drank,  and  slid  heavily  from  his  horse,  before 
speaking. 

"You  don't  go  thinkin'  I  went  fer  to  take  that 
low  trail,  do  you?"  he  said,  in  reply  to  a  question. 

212 


Station  347  +  57.6 

"  Well,  I  didn't.  I  was  throwed  there,  me  an'  the 
horse,  an'  we  winned  out  on  a  place  what  was  jus' 
above  the  rush.  The  rest  is  gone— Barton  an'  Joyce 
an'  Willis.  All  gone.  Seen  'em  go,  an'  couldn't  do  a 
thing.  The  thief  he's  gone,  too— gone  with  'em.  His 
legs  was  hobbled  under  the  horse  he  was  ridin',  so  he 
couldn't  help  himself,  nohow.  But  they  couldn't  none 
of  'em  help  'emselves." 

As  the  man  was  speaking,  he  swayed  on  his  feet  and 
was  about  to  fall.  Carter  and  the  transitman  helped 
him  to  a  seat  against  the  shaded  side  of  the  stone 
house.  Some  one  began  fanning  him. 

The  contractor's  wife  appeared  for  an  instant  around 
the  corner  of  the  house,  beckoned  to  Carter,  and  van 
ished.  Carter  followed  her. 

"Where  did  you  take  your  man,  :Lee?"  asked  the 
transitman. 

"  Jus'  across  the  river,  none  so  far  from  here,"  was 
the  reply.  "  Me  an'  Reddy  Willis  ketched  up  to  him 
on  the  Agua  Caliente  road.  He  was  ridin'  one  er 
them  ponies  what  Unc'  George  lost,  without  no  saddle, 
an'  he  couldn't  hardly  stay  on  at  a  walk.  He  was  the 
man  we  was  after,  all  right  enough,  but  say :  d'yer 
know  I  kinder  felt  sorry  f er  'im  ?  He  wasn't  no  kind 
of  a  horse-thief—he  wasn't  hardly  a  man.  I  tells  him 
to  throw  up  his  hands,  an'  he  don't  seem  to  savvy  what 
I'm  givin'  him.  He  come  from  back  East  somewheres ; 
I  could  see  that  stickin'  out  a  foot.  Then  I  tells  him 
again  to  throw  up  his  hands,  an'  he  pulls  out  one  er 
these  'ere  little  guns  like  you'd  hang  on  yer  watch- 
chain,  an'  fires  at  me." 

213 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"Did  lie  hit  you,  Gappy?"  some  one  asked. 

"  Naw  !  "  replied  Cappy,  smiling  weakly.  "  Ain't 
heard  f  om  it  yet,  anyhow,  if  he  did.  I  takes  his  gun 
away,  an'  Reddy  he  hits  him  a  clip  across  the  cabeza. 
Say  !  that  galoot  he  begins  to  cry— to  cry !  He  don't 
say  that  he  ain't  took  the  horses,  but  he  talks  about 
the  disgrace,— bein'  ketched,  I  reckon  he  means,— an' 
says  he  wanted  to  pay  fer  'em,  only  he  couldn't.  But 
all  the  same  he  offers  us  the  dust.  Twice  as  much  as 
them  crow-baits  is  worth,  it  was.  I  couldn't  savvy  his 
lay,  nohow.  Said  he  didn't  dare  buy  'em.  When  we 
wouldn't  take  his  money,  he  cries  some  more,  an'  talks 
about  his  wife  an'  kids.  Reddy  he  gets  dead  soft,  an' 
was  jus'  about  ready  to  take  the  stuff  an'  turn  'im 
loose,  an'  I  don't  know  as  I'd  made  much  of  a  kick, 
only  jus'  then  up  comes  Barton  an'  Joyce.  Barton 
said  that,  seein'  he  was  sheriff,  he'd  have  to  do  his 
duty.  He  always  done  that,  Barton  did.  Then  we 
starts  to  come  back  here,  an'  the  flood  ketches  us. 
We  pushed  fer  all  we  was  worth,  all  of  us,  but  it 
didn't  do  no  good— not  to  the  others,  anyhow.  I  see 
Barton  stoop  out  of  his  saddle  to  cut  the  thief's  leg- 
hobbles  loose,  an'  then  the  water  came.  That  feller 
he  let  jus'  one  scream— a  scream  like  a  wounded  horse. 
There  ain't  no  thin'  worse  than  that.  I  went  down 
stream.  I  don't  seem  to  recollect  much  about  it,  only 
I  stuck  to  the  saddle,  an'  bimeby  me  an'  the  pony  gets 
chucked  out  five  miles  below,  or  thereabouts.  I 
winned  out,  an'  I  come  up  here.  I  was  crossin'  the 
flat,  down  here  a  ways,  an'  I  sees  Barton  an'  the  man 
we'd  took  an'  the  pony  he  was  a-ridin'.  Dead— all 

214 


Station  347+  57.6 


three  of  'em  dead.  Barton's  horse  wasn't  there,  an* 
Barton's  hand  was  grippin'  the  foot-hobble  yet,  an'  his 
other  was  clinched  roun'  his  knife.  I  left  'em  there 
—I  couldn't  do  nothin'  else.  They  was  jammed  right 
up  agains'  one  er  you  fellers'  stakes,  an'  I  pulled  it  up 
an'  brung  it  along,  so's  you'd  know  where  to  look. 
Somebody  oughter  go  out  an'  bring  'em  in— quick, 
before  the  coyotes— before  any  thin'  happens.  I'd  go, 
only  I'm  kinder  done." 

Several  men  started  in  the  direction  of  the  corrals. 
Lee's  saddle  was  lying  on  the  ground  near  by,  and  to 
its  cantle  was  tied  the  stake.  It  was  loosened  and 
handed  to  Powers,  who  glanced  at  the  red  chalk  figures 
which  still  showed  legibly  on  its  side. 

"  It's  the  last  stake  we  put  in  to-day,"  he  said.  "  Go 
into  the  office  and  look  at  the  map.  They'll  have 
plotted  the  notes  by  this  time.  Take  a  couple  of  extra 
horses  with  you  when  you  go,  and  aparejos.  No  wagon 
can  reach  there  after  this  flood." 

Powers  walked  slowly  away,  passing  in  front  of  the 
house  as  the  door  opened  and  Carter  emerged.  Pow 
ers  stopped  and  waited. 

"  I  reckon  'twas  you  she  wanted  when  she  sent  out," 
said  Carter,  as  he  approached  the  engineer.  "  'Twas 
about  them  kids.  She  wanted  they  should  be  sent  to 
their  gran'daddy  if —if  so  be  she  couldn't  look  out  fer 
;em  herself.  She  knowed  how  bad  off  she  was,  but  we 
didn't— she  must  'a'  been  sick  all  along.  She  give  me 
her  daddy's  name,  an'  the  place  where  he  lives.  I  put  'em 
down.  Here.  Lord,  how  hot  it  is  !  "  Carter  took  off 
his  hat  and  drew  his  shirt-sleeves  across  his  forehead. 

215 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"Well,"  said  Powers,  impatiently,  "how  is  she 
now?" 

"  Jus'  after  that  she— well,  kinder  went  off  her  head, 
you  know,"  continued  the  chainman.  "  Say,  'twas— 
say,  'twas  awful !  She  talked  about  her  man.  Said 
'at  he  said  'at  he'd  surely  come  back  fer  her,  an'  so 
he'd  surely  come."  Carter  paused  and  moistened  his 
lips  with  his  tongue. 

"  He  kept  his  word,"  said  Powers  shortly,  pointing 
to  the  stake  which  he  still  held.  "He  was  found 
there." 

Carter  took  the  stake  and  looked  at  it  absently. 

"  Kept  his  word,"  he  repeated  mechanically.  "  She 
said  he  would.  An'  she  said  she'd  have  to  go  an'  meet 
him." 

"  And  then  f "  asked  Powers. 

"  Well,  she— well,  she's  gone,  that's  all." 


216 


THE  WIND  WRAITH 


THE  WIND  WRAITH 


BISCUIT  CITY  was  booming.  The  two  saloons  were 
overflowing  with  teamsters  and  mechanics  and 
hungry-looking,  ill-clad  men  who  had  tramped 
thither,  or  had  beaten  their  way  on  the  railroad,  in 
search  of  employment  on  the  work  that  was  about  to 
commence.  Six-  or  eight-horse  teams  harnessed  to 
heavy  wagons,  each  of  which  had  a  trail-wagon  at  its 
back,  filled  the  little  plaza  while  they  waited  for  their 
loads.  Others,  already  loaded,  dotted  the  trail  that 
led  from  Biscuit  City  to  the  new  camp  at  Dam  Site, 
seven  miles  away. 

The  station-agent  was  rushing  distractedly  about, 
wildly  confusing  his  way-bills  and  vouchers  as  he  was 
pursued  and  anathematized  by  the  owners  of  the  wait 
ing  teams.  The  agent  was  not  accustomed  to  this 
pressure  of  business.  Until  this  day,  his  hardest  work 
had  been  to  keep  awake. 

Biscuit  City  was  a  very  small  place.     Its  two  saloons 

and  one  store  had  been  supported  in  a  dormant  life 

principally  by  the  leisurely  little  mining  company  that 

owned  the  store,  and  which  was  scratching  the  earth 

219 


Sand  and  Cactus 

in  a  feeble  sort  of  way  on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Gila, 
four  miles  below  our  camp.  The  South  Bank  Placer 
Company,  it  called  itself. 

For  this  sudden  activity  in  the  town  the  Maricopa 
Irrigation  Company  was  responsible.  We  of  the  en 
gineer  corps  knew  that,  and  fully  realized  our  impor 
tance.  This  was  true  of  all  of  us,  from  the  chief 
engineer — myself — down  to  Liver,  my  personal  at 
tendant,  who  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  corps, 
and  who,  therefore,  had  been  giving  himself  more 
airs  than  any  of  us.  We  were  all  rather  young. 
Except  for  a  mine  that  had  given  out  almost  as  soon 
as  I  had  tried  to  work  it,  this  was  my  first  charge  as 
chief ;  and  the  experience  of  the  other  members  of  the 
corps  was  less  than  mine.  Even  when  the  preliminary 
surveys  had  been  under  way,  we  were  constantly 
reminded  of  our  importance— from  the  few  inhabi 
tants  of  the  district,  who  regarded  us  as  the  forerun 
ners  of  prosperity  for  their  section  of  the  country, 
down  to  the  people  of  the  South  Bank  Company,  who 
were  trying  to  get  some  of  our  land  away  from  us, 
who  therefore  hated  us,  and  were  hated  by  us  most 
cordially  in  return.  Every  one  flattered  us,  directly 
or  indirectly.  Now  that  the  surveys  had  been  com 
pleted,  and  the  materials  and  supplies  for  the  beginning 
of  construction  had  actually  arrived,  our  importance, 
in  our  own  eyes  and  in  those  of  the  others,  was 
trebled. 

Early  that  morning,  I  had  ridden  over  from  our 
camp  to  this  little  adobe-built  village,  together  with 
Liver,  Bailey,  my  assistant  engineer,  and  a  Mexican 

22O 


The  Wind  Wraith 

corral-hand.  Throughout  the  day  we  had  labored 
hard.  The  many  things  referred  to  me,  all  at  once, 
and  the  importunities  of  the  men  who  were  looking 
for  work,  had  reduced  me,  toward  the  last,  to  a  state 
of  mind  not  very  far  removed  from  that  of  the  station- 
agent  himself. 

At  last  it  was  all  finished.  The  station-agent  took 
time  to  stand  still  for  a  moment  and  grin  in  a  dubious 
sort  of  way  at  the  confused  mass  of  papers  he  held  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  wiped  his  reeking  brow. 

I  had  sent  Liver  to  the  store.  Bailey,  the  Mexican, 
and  I  walked  our  horses  along  the  trail,  waiting  for 
him  to  overtake  us.  It  was  a  very  warm  day,  even  for 
southwestern  Arizona.  The  thermometer,  carefully 
sheltered,  registered  one  hundred  and  eighteen  de 
grees.  Bailey  and  I  were  flapping  our  hands  uselessly 
at  the  swarms  of  'flies  that  buzzed  about  our  heads  and 
clung  persistently  to  our  damp  faces,  while  the  Mexi 
can,  lolling  in  his  cradle-like  saddle,  smoked  one 
crooked  brown -paper  cigarette  after  another  with 
every  indication  of  satisfaction. 

We  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  the  sound 
of  a  pistol-shot  made  me  rein  in  my  horse.  Bailey, 
who  had  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  closed  it  without 
having  said  anything,  and  the  Mexican  threw  away 
his  cigarette  and  gathered  up  his  reins.  Another 
pistol-shot  followed  the  first  one  closely.  Then  a  cry, 
some  oaths  in  Spanish,  and  two  more  shots. 

It  was  Liver's  voice  that  had  given  that  cry— I 
would  know  it  anywhere.  Wheeling  our  horses,  we 
started  back  in  the  direction  from  which  we  had  come. 
221 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Hardly  were  we  away,  however,  when  Liver  appeared, 
riding  as  though  for  his  life.  In  his  right  hand  he 
held  his  pistol,  and  the  sleeve  which  covered  that  arm 
was  stained  with  red  in  one  place,  and  while  we  looked 
the  stain  broadened  and  grew  deeper. 

"  Don't  go  down  there— don't !  "  cried  Liver,  as  he 
came  abreast  of  us.  "Come  on— this  way !  Don't  stop  !" 

Waving  us  on  with  his  pistol,  he  darted  ahead. 
There  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  follow.  For 
some  distance  we  rode  down  the  trail,  flashing  by 
slowly  moving  freight- wagons  on  our  way,  and  men 
on  foot,  who  sprang  aside  to  let  us  pass,  and  who 
gazed  curiously  at  the  stain  on  Liver's  sleeve  and  at 
the  drawn  pistol  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 

Try  as  we  might,  we  could  not  catch  him.  Liver 
had  chosen,  as  he  always  did,  the  fastest  and  worst- 
tempered  horse  we  possessed,  and  with  Liver's  weight 
on  his  back— Liver  was  but  four  feet  eight  in  height 
and  had  no  flesh  on  his  body  worth  mentioning— the 
animal  had  no  difficulty  at  all  in  keeping  well  ahead 
of  us.  I  did  not  want  to  call  to  Liver  while  the 
wagons  or  the  men  on  foot  were  near,  so  I  waited 
until  we  came  to  a  place  where  the  road  was  empty 
for  half  a  mile  or  more.  Then  I  asked  him  what  the 
matter  was,  and  ordered  him  to  stop.  I  had  to  call 
several  times  before  my  command  had  any  effect. 
Finally,  as  though  he  had  just  heard  me,  he  looked 
around  and  checked  his  horse.  His  face  showed  a 
fear  that  I  had  never  seen  there  before,  and  I  had  seen 
Liver  in  places  where  there  would  have  been  good 
excuse  for  any  amount  of  fear. 

222 


The  Wind  Wraith 

"How  did  you  get  hurt  ?  What  are  you  running  away 
from  ? "  I  asked,  as  we  came  close  enough  to  speak. 

Liver  made  no  reply. 

Some  men  were  coming  down  the  road,  and  with  a 
view  of  avoiding  the  questions  he  knew  they  would 
ask,  Bailey  caught  the  bridle  of  Liver's  horse  and  led 
him  in  a  canter  away  from  the  road  behind  a  clump 
of  mesquit  that  was  growing  on  the  desert. 

As  we  came  to  a  stand,  Liver  looked  carefully 
around  him.  Seeing  no  one,  he  returned  the  pistol 
to  the  holster  on  his  hip.  His  hand  was  trembling 
violently,  and  he  made  one  or  two  false  starts  before 
he  finally  got  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ? "  asked  Bailey. 

Liver  moistened  his  lips  before  speaking. 

"  I  reckon  I'm  kinder  rattled,"  said  he  at  last. 

"  I  should  think  you  were.  Who  shot  at  you,  Liver  1 " 
I  asked. 

"  Dunno,"  replied  Liver,  shortly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  1  Was  the  shot  fired  by  a  man 
you  don't  know,  or  didn't  you  see  who  fired  it?"  I 
persisted.  "  Explain  yourself,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  I  mean  I  dunno  whether  'twas  a  man  or  a  woman, 
or — what,"  said  Liver,  slowly.  "I  dunno's  I  can  ex 
plain.  You'd  laugh  at  me  if  I  tried.  But  ther7  ain't 
nothin'  ter  laugh  at,  jus'  as  hard." 

Whether  there  was  anything  to  laugh  at  or  not, 
Liver's  face  showed  that  he  was  entirely  serious. 
Could  I  have  believed  such  a  thing  of  Liver,  I  would 
have  said  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  This 
would  be  a  thing  to  wonder  at,  for  his  sixteen-year-old 
223 


Sand  and  Cactus 

nerves  were  about  as  sensitive,  ordinarily,  as  those  of 
an  oyster.  Bailey  dismounted,  and  taking  Liver's 
arm,  began  to  strip  the  sleeve  from  it. 

"  That  ain't  nothin',"  said  Liver,  impatiently,  trying 
to  draw  his  hand  from  Bailey's  grasp.  "  That's  only 
a  graze." 

"  Let  Mr.  Bailey  see  it,"  I  ordered  sharply.  "  You 
go  on  with  your  story.  Begin  at  the  beginning  and 
tell  us  all  that  happened." 

"Well,  I  s'pose  maybe  I'd  better,"  agreed  Liver, 
after  some  thought.  "  If  you  laugh,  I  can't  help  it, 
an'  whether  you  laugh  or  not,  I  mean  ev'ry  word  I  say, 
f  er  ev'ry  word  is  dead  true.  Well,  I  went  up  ter  that 
ther'  store  like  you  tol'  me  to.  You  mind  that  little 
chromo  what  used  ter  run  the  place— Squinny  Peters  ? 
Well,  he  ain't  there  no  more.  There  ain't  no  one  there 
when  I  go  in,  an'  I  wait '  quite  a  time  when  in  waltzes 
a  woman.  She  ain't  much  ter  look  at,  but  she  ain't 
the  sort  er  woman  you  see  roun'  here.  She's  your 
kin'— yours  an'  Mr.  Bailey's.  She  ain't  a  'Merican, 
but  she  talks  United  States  jus'  as  good  as  I  can. 
When  she  comes  in  she  looks  at  me  fer  a  while,  an' 
then  she  calls  me  <  child ' "  j  here  Liver  looked  around 
indignantly.  "  She  calls  me  t  child,'  an'  asks  me  what 
I  want.  I  tell  her,  an'  then  she  asks  do  I  belong  ter 
the  Maricopa  outfit,  an'  I  say  I  do.  Then  she  whoops 
the  prices  er  this  fowl  an'  fruit  [bacon  and  canned 
vegetables]  away  up,  an'  she  says  things  about  me  an' 
you  an'  the  company  that  ain't  no  compliments.  I 
get  kinder  mad,  but  I  don'  say  nothin',  only  that  I 
think  the  prices  is  too  big,  an'  that  I  don'  want  the 

224 


The  Wind  Wraith 

things  at  that  rate,  but  I  think  a  lot  more  that  I  don't 
say.  Well,  sir,  that's  where  the  queer  part  conies  in. 
No  sooner  do  I  think  er  them  things  what  I  wanter 
say—  no  sooner  do  I  think  er  them  things  than  they're 
said.  They're  said  in  my  voice,  too,  but  I  don'  say  'em 
—I  don'  say  a  word.  Where  the  voice  comes  from  I 
can't  tell,  an'  it  jolts  me  some,  now  I  tell  yer.  The 
woman  she  isn't  scared,  but  she  looks  kinder  jolted, 
too,  jus'  fer  a  minute.  Then  she  answers  the  voice 
that  was  like  mine  j  answers  it  jus'  like  I'd  said  what 
the  voice  said.  I'm  dead  rattled  by  that  time.  I  tells 
her  that  it  wasn't  me  what  had  said  them  things,  an' 
she  says  I'm  lyin',  little  boy.  I  say  I  ain't,  an'  then 
that  ther'  voice  chips  in  again,  an'  says  what  I'd  'a'  liked 
ter,  only  I  wouldn't,  not  to  a  woman.  Then  she  jumps 
me  again,  an'  I'm  too  dead  rattled  ter  say  a  thing.  I 
don'  min'  ownin'  up— I  was  rattled,  an'  so'd  you  'a' 
been  if  you  was  there.  Yet  I  try  ter  keep  her  f-'om 
swin'lin'  me  more'n  ther's  any  call  fer  on  them  there 
goods.  I  ain't  got  no  business  ter  get  rattled  'bout 
them.  I  don't  know  how  I  make  out,  though.  Twice 
more  that  voice  comes  inter  the  game,  an'  the  end  of 
it  is  that  I  pick  up  the  bundles  an'  drop  'em  an'  pick 
'em  up  again,  an'  mosey  outer  that  fer  all  I'm  worth. 
An'  the  voice  it  calls  out  sunthin'  ter  the  woman  as  I 
go— sunthin'  I  wouldn't  er  said,  not  on  no  account." 

"  That  doesn't  explain  how  it  was  you  came  to  get 
shot  at,"  remarked  Bailey,  tearing  up  his  handkerchief 
to  make  a  bandage. 

"  I  was  er-comin'  ter  that."  I  runs  outer  there  an' 
gets  my  horse  an'  begins  tyin'  the  bundles  on  the 
225 


Sand  and  Cactus 

saddle  like  you  see,"  replied  Liver,  making  a  gesture 
with  his  unwouuded  arm  toward  the  many  packages 
that  hung  like  distorted  leeches  to  his  heavy  Mexican 
saddle.  "  I  was  kinder  'shamed  fer  bein'  so  rattled, 
an'  I'm  tryin'  ter  get  over  it,  when  up  comes  er  greaser, 
an'  he  speaks  me  in  Spanish.  I  don'  like  greasers,  but 
I  don'  say  much.  Then  he  asks  me  do  I  wanter  make 
money  easy,  so  I  say  I  got  er  job  now  what  suits  me 
all  right  j  but  he  says  he  means  do  I  wanter  make  the 
boodle  without  leavin'  my  job,  an'  I  say  sure  I  do. 
Then  he  springs  er  scheme  on  me.  Says  the  South 
Bank  Company'd  like  ter  get  hoi'  of  our  boundary 
survey  notes ;  an'  he  says  they'd  like  some  other  in- 
f  ermation,  now  'n'  again,  an'  if  I'll  keep  my  eyes  open, 
an'  will  come  an'  tell  that  ther'  woman  whatever  she 
wants  ter  know,  they'll  pay  me  well,  only  I  got  ter 
keep  my  mouth  shut.  I  get  pretty  mad  at  that,  but  I 
don't  feel  fightin'  fit,  so  I  don'  say  much.  Then  he 
says  if  I  won't  do  what  they  wants  me  to,  I  mustn't 
live  ter  tell  er  the  proposition  they  made.  Then  the 
voice  chips  in  again,  an'  said  things  what  I'd  like  ter 
say,  if  I  could  only  think  of  'em,  but  I  can't — not  then, 
anyhow.  I  climb  onter  my  horse  in  a  hurry.  The 
greaser  he  looks  like  he's  gettin'  dead  mad,  but  then 
I  turn  my  back  fer  a  minute,  so  I  don't  see  him. 
Then  a  shot  comes  f'om  somewhere,'!  don't  see  where ; 
but  when  I  look  ther's  a  puff  er  smoke  in  the  air,  an' 
the  greaser  he  stan's  there  grinnin'.  Another  shot 
comes,  an'  it  burns  my  arm  like  you  see.  I  pulls  an' 
fires  twice  at  the  greaser,  an'  ther's  one  more  shot 
f'om  nowhere,  but  it  misses." 

226 


The  Wind  Wraith 

"  Hold  on,  Liver/'  said  I.  "  What  was  it  you  said 
to  this  Mexican  ?  Not  what  that  voice  you're  telling 
about  said,  but  what  you  said  yourself  ? " 

"Nothin'  much.  As  near  as  I  c'n  remember,  I  tol' 
him  that  if  he  was  a  white  man  he  oughter  be  shot 
f er  makin'  a  propersition  like  that ;  but  bein'  what  he 
was,  a  low-down,  mongrel  beast  of  a  greaser,  he 
warn't  responserble,  an'  'twas  them  that  tol'  him  ter 
say  it  what  oughter  be  shot." 

"  Very  moderate  indeed,"  commented  Bailey.  "  Did 
you  get  the  greaser  when  you  fired  at  him,  Liver  ? " 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  He  didn't  give  no  sign  of  it 
that  I  could  see." 

Bailey  gave  a  final  tuck  to  the  bandage  on  Liver's 
arm.  "  That's  all  we  can  do  now,"  said  he.  "  The  hurt 
isn't  much,  anyhow— it'll  hardly  make  his  arm  sore. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  this  affair?  Of 
course  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  this  voice  that 
goes  sliding  around  the  country,  laying  for  Liver  in 
order  to  get  him  into  trouble,  and  I  hazard  no  opinion 
as  to  what  Liver  had  been  taking  when  he  heard  it- 
Still,  I  think  we'd  best  go  back  and  see  about  it.  We'll 
interview  the  legal  powers  of  the  land." 

Bailey  tried  to  speak  lightly,  but  I  am  sure  that  he 
was  somewhat  impressed  by  what  Liver  had  said. 
We  both  knew  the  boy  well  enough  to  be  sure  that, 
whatever  the  voice  might  really  be,  Liver  believed  his 
story  to  be  true  in  every  detail.  I  decided  at  once  to 
follow  Bailey's  advice.  To  see  the  deputy  sheriff 
stationed  in  the  town,  and  to  enlist  his  services  in  our 
behalf,  was  obviously  our  best  course.  Turning  to- 
227 


Sand  and  Cactus 

ward  Biscuit  City,  I  told  Liver  to  go  on  to  the  camp 
—a  thing  Liver  flatly  refused  to  do.  I  think  he  was 
afraid  to  trust  us  within  range  of  the  baneful  influence 
of  that  disembodied  voice  without  having  him  by  for 
protection.  Therefore  he  replaced  the  two  empty 
cartridges  in  his  pistol  with  fresh  ones,  and  hitching 
his  holster  forward  to  a  convenient  place,  he  rode 
along  with  us. 

We  did  not  have  to  return  to  Biscuit  City,  however. 
A  horseman  who  was  in  sight  as  we  started  back 
proved,  as  he  approached  our  party,  to  be  the  deputy 
himself.  He  waved  his  hand,  and  pulling  up,  we 
waited  for  him  to  meet  us. 

"Jus'  a-lookin'  foh  you  fellahs,"  said  he.  "They 
tol'  me  that  kid  er  youahs  got  intah  some  trouble  in 
that  stoah,  an'  got  huht.  I  don't  want  none  ah  that 
sohtah  thing  roun'  heah.  If  I  c'n  fin'  out  the  man 
what  fiahed  that  shot,  he  won't  shoot  no  moah. 
Theah's  been  some  queeah  things  roun'  that  place 
lately.  How  did  it  happen  ? " 

We  told  him,  briefly,  what  had  occurred.  Though 
we  could  not  avoid  the  mention  of  Liver's  mysterious 
voice,  we  passed  over  it  as  lightly  as  possible.  Neither 
Bailey  nor  I  wanted  to  have  Liver  laughed  at  if 
we  could  help  it.  But  there  was  no  danger  of  that, 
it  seemed.  The  deputy  sheriff  listened  attentively, 
leaning  forward  in  his  saddle  and  fanning  himself 
with  his  broad-brimmed  sombrero. 

"  Yes,  I  reckoned  that  mightah  had  sunthin'  to  do 
with  it,"  he  said,  as  we  finished  our  story.  "  That 
theah  woman  what  runs  the  shop  has  only  been 

228 


The  Wind  Wraith 

theah  three  days,  now,  but  theah's  othahs  beside  the 
boy  what  has  heahd  that  voice  a-sayin'  things— 
mighty  queeah  things,  too,  sometimes.  But  it  nebah 
shot  no  one  befoah." 

"  A  voice  couldn't  shoot  any  one,"  I  objected. 

"Dunno  whethah  it  could  or  not,"  responded  the 
sheriff.  "If  theah's  a  voice,  theah  mus'  be  sunthin' 
what  makes  that  voice.  That's  what  I'm  goin'  to  fin' 
out,  if  I  can.  'Twasn't  that  greasah  what  did  the 
shootin'.  I  went  through  him,  an'  his  gun  hadn't 
been  fiahed." 

"  You  arrested  him,  then  ?"  asked  Bailey. 

"  No.  I  didn't  have  to.  The  kid  got  him,  all  right 
enough.  The  greasah  was  afraid  to  come  out  an'  do 
the  shootin'  himself,  like  a  Christian,  so  he  let  that 
thing,  whatevah  it  was,  do  it  foh  him,  like  he  knowed 
it  would." 

"  Will  he  die  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  'Fraid  not.  But  theah  ain't  no  good  in  you  fellahs 
goin'  back  theah  now.  I'll  do  all  I  can,  an'  you'll  only 
be  gettin'  intah  trouble.  Theah's  a  lot  ah  them  South 
Bank  people  that's  gathahed  what'd  only  be  too  glad 
ah  the  chance,  an'  they  outnumbah  you.  If  theah  is 
any  news,  I'll  come  ovah  to  Dam  Site  an'  let  you  know. 
So  long." 

Turning,  the  sheriff  galloped  back,  and  once  more 
we  turned  the  heads  of  our  horses  toward  the  camp. 

The  sun  had  nearly  set  as  we  started.     The  wind 

arose  in  puffs  which  grew  stronger  as  the  sun  lowered. 

Each  gust  carried  with  it  sand  from  the  surface  of  the 

desert,  making  half  the  great  disk  tkat  still  showed 

229 


Sand  and  Cactus 

above  the  horizon  appear  red,  and  hazy  in  outline, 
and  confusing  the  long  shadows  that  stretched  away 
on  our  right.  We  were  a  very  silent  party.  Neither 
Bailey  nor  I  cared  to  discuss  the  affair  of  the  store  in 
Liver's  presence,  for  Liver  was  fully  occupied  in  trying 
to  control  his  shaken  nerves.  Had  he  failed  to  control 
them,  I  think  he  would  have  died  of  shame.  Aurelio, 
our  Mexican,  filled  with  the  superstition  of  his  race, 
kept  looking  over  his  shoulder  as  though  he  expected 
to  see  something  in  pursuit  of  our  party.  He  was  a 
very  good  Mexican.  If  he  had  not  been,  he  would  not 
have  started  back  with  us  when  we  undertook  to  return 
to  Biscuit  City.  But  then  he  was  a  white  man,  not  a 
greaser ;  that  is  to  say,  his  blood  was  not  mixed  with 
that  of  the  Indian.  It  was  not  well  to  call  Aurelio  a 
greaser,  for  he  objected  to  the  name,  and  when  Aurelio 
objected  to  a  thing,  he  did  it  with  a  knife,  generally. 
We  did  not  keep  to  the  trail,  for  there  was  a  much 
shorter  way  to  our  camp.  It  led  across  a  stretch  of 
land  that  was  cut  up  by  ditches  and  sown  thickly  with 
badger-holes,  and  therefore  was  quite  impracticable 
for  wagons ;  yet  for  our  horses,  if  carefully  ridden,  it 
was  passable  enough.  But  having  reached  this  place, 
it  took  us  much  longer  than  we  had  anticipated  to  pick 
our  way  across  it.  Though  the  moon  had  risen  nearly 
as  soon  as  the  sun  went  down,  the  sand  was  now  flying 
in  so  thick  a  cloud  as  to  obscure  its  rays,  and  to  give 
them,  when  they  sifted  through,  the  same  watery  ap 
pearance  that  they  would  have  had  if  they  were  filter 
ing  through  rain-clouds.  Minute  by  minute  this  grew 
worse.  At  times  we  could  hardly  see  anything. 

230 


The  Wind  Wraith 

The  wind  still  blew  in  gusts.  Between  these  gusts 
there  was  no  lull— no  absolute  lull,  that  is ;  but  when 
one  gust  had  passed,  until  another  came  we  could  see 
a  short  distance  ahead  of  us  and  so  could  tell,  to  a 
degree,  where  we  were  going;  then,  as  each  puff  bore 
down  on  us,  the  dust  that  it  carried  would  appear  as 
though  it  were  a  curtain,  bellying  and  flying  across 
the  plain  with  all  the  force  of  the  wind  behind  it. 

We  had  nearly  crossed  the  broken  ground.  Beyond 
us  lay  a  part  of  the  desert  that  was  level  and  sandy 
and  firm.  We  could  not  see  it,  of  course,  but  we  knew 
that  it  was  there.  Suddenly  Liver,  who  was  riding  on 
my  left,  pointed  to  that  side  and  to  the  rear. 

"  Look ! "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a 
scream.  "  Look  there  !  Look !  Look  !  " 

With  our  eyes  we  followed  the  direction  in  which 
he  pointed.  One  wave  of  the  storm  had  passed,  and 
the  lull  was  lighter  than  usual,  but  another  wave  was 
almost  abreast  of  us,  and,  perhaps  from  the  contrast 
given  by  the  unusual  lightness,  seemed  darker  than 
any  that  had  preceded  it. 

Ahead  of  the  wave  of  sand  a  figure  ran,  or  in  some 
way  moved.  It  seemed  as  though  it  was  blown  along 
by  the  wind  as  a  dry  leaf  is  blown.  The  figure  was 
that  of  an  old  man,  enormously  tall,  and  clad  in  flut 
tering  white  drapery.  His  long  hair  and  beard,  both 
silvery  white,  mingled  as  they  were  blown  forward  by 
the  wind.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  staff,  which  he  waved 
forward  as  though  he  were  urging  on  the  wind  as  a 
man  calls  on  his  dogs.  He  was  shouting  something, 
too,  in  a  tongue  that  I  never  before  had  heard,  and  in 

231 


Sand  and  Cactus 

a  voice  that  boomed  and  rang  and  mingled  with  the 
rush  of  the  gale,  so  that  if  one  had  not  seen  the  figure 
itself,  its  voice  could  not  have  been  distinguished  from 
one  of  the  many  voices  of  the  storm. 

Bailey  saw  the  apparition  at  the  same  moment  that  I 
did,  and  with  an  oath  he  checked  his  horse.  In  the 
darkness  I  could  hear  Aurelio  shrieking  forth  prayers 
in  Latin  tinged  with  Mexican- Spanish.  Liver  had 
started  to  cover  his  face  with  his  arm  in  order  to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  the  wind-blown  figure,  but  quickly 
collecting  himself,  he  whipped  out  his  pistol  instead, 
and  fired  three  shots  with  all  the  quickness  of  his 
practised  little  hand.  Before  he  could  fire  a  fourth,  I 
caught  the  weapon  and  threw  it  up. 

It  was  all  over  in  an  instant.  The  curtain  of  dust 
and  sand  surrounded  us,  and  the  figure  vanished. 
For  a  moment  I  thought  I  could  hear  its  voice,  but  I 
was  in  no  way  certain.  The  only  sure  thing  was  that 
we  were  all  startled — very  much  startled.  The  horses 
were  infected  by  the  fright,  as  horses  always  are,  and 
in  another  moment  they  were  rushing  and  floundering 
over  the  bad  ground,  and  when  they  had  passed  it, 
they  galloped  madly,  at  a  gait  that  suggested  stam 
pede,  through  the  darkness  home  to  the  camp. 

Supper,  that  evening,  was  a  very  perfunctory  affair. 
The  dust  got  into  everything.  As  soon  as  the  men  had 
swallowed  what  they  could,  one  after  another  they 
disappeared.  For  a  while  I  sat  on  the  veranda  of  the 
office  building  and  watched  the  storm.  There  was  not 
much  to  see.  The  office  was  placed  so  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  mesa  that  the  veranda  on  which  I  sat  over- 

232 


The  Wind  Wraith 

hung  the  cliff,  fifty  yards  high,  that  bounded  one  side 
of  the  narrow  valley  of  the  Gila.  On  the  flat  below, 
an  enormous  splinter  of  rock,  split  from  the  parent 
cliff  by  volcanic  action,  stood  balanced  on  one  end,  its 
top  close  to  the  mesa  and  on  a  level  with  it.  The  top 
of  this  rock  was  wholly  invisible ;  in  fact,  it  was  im 
possible  to  tell  where  the  solid  ground  of  the  mesa  left 
off  and  the  space  beyond  it  began.  Taken  altogether 
it  was  not  an  inspiriting  sight.  I  went  to  bed. 

It  was  quite  late  the  next  morning  when  I  woke. 
The  wind  was  almost  gone,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  From  the  flat  below  came  the  cheerful 
sounds  of  the  work  that  had  already  begun.  Out  of 
my  window  I  could  see  as  I  dressed  that  the  teams 
were  already  harnessed  to  the  great  ploughs  which  were 
to  break  the  ground  for  the  foundations  of  our  dam. 
Bailey  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  busily  super 
intending.  Close  to  the  base  of  the  cliff,  so  close  that 
I  could  not  see,  the  sounds  of  hammers  and  saws  and 
falling  boards  told  that  the  building  for  our  store  was 
already  in  the  process  of  erection.  Liver  was  stand 
ing  just  within  my  range  of  vision,  intently  observing 
this  operation,  with  manifest  approval  of  the  coming 
rival  of  the  establishment  he  had  visited  the  day  before. 

Hurrying  through  with  my  breakfast,  I  went  over 
the  newly  started  work.  Everything  was  going  on  as 
well  as  could  be ;  so  calling  for  Liver  to  bring  my 
horse  and  his  own,  I  started  off  down  the  line  of  the 
canal. 

Our  way  led  along  the  flat,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  frowning  cliffs  that  bordered  it :  cliffs  of  polished 

233 


Sand  and  Cactus 

black  volcanic  rock.  But  it  was  only  on  the  surface 
that  the  rock  was  black.  Wherever  the  stone  was 
smooth  enough,  Indians  of  some  forgotten  race  had 
chipped  this  surface  away,  revealing  the  light-gray 
stone  underneath  in  the  shape  of  coiled  serpents, 
deer,  or  long-legged  birds,  all  much  conventionalized. 
From  a  little  distance  it  looked  as  though  the  queer 
hieroglyphs  were  drawn  with  chalk  on  a  blackboard. 

Then  all  these  cliffs  fell  back ;  the  flat  grew  broader, 
and  we  could  see  the  dust-cloud  that  drifted  away  from 
the  works  of  the  South  Bank  Company.  This  was  the 
end  of  our  journey,  for  here  were  the  stakes  marking 
the  disputed  boundary  between  our  land  and  that 
which  they  claimed.  I  was  rather  uneasy  about  this 
place,  for  reports  of  the  wrath  of  the  South  Bank 
people  were  coming  to  me  continually.  They  were 
threatening  all  manner  of  things,  and  I  had  no  doubt 
that,  sooner  or  later,  we  should  have  trouble  with 
them.  On  this  day,  however,  none  of  the  stakes 
seemed  to  have  been  disturbed,  and  after  satisfying 
myself  of  this  fact,  I  started  back  to  the  camp. 

We  were  returning  across  the  mesa— it  was  shorter 
that  way  than  by  following  the  sinuosities  of  the  river 
valley.  For  a  long  time  neither  of  us  had  spoken, 
when  suddenly  Liver  observed :  "  Say,  I  s'pose  you 
know  that  a  lot  er  the  men  have  heard  that  ther'  voice 
what  scared  me  up  so  yes'day." 

I  had  not  heard  anything  of  the  kind,  I  said. 

"Well,  it's  so.     Ther'  ain't  none  er  them  fellers 
that'll  go  inter  that  store,  not  if  they  c'n  help  'emselves.  * 
They  don't  say  why  it  is  they  won't  go— not  as  a  rule, 

234 


The  Wind  Wraith 

that  is,  but  now  'n'  again  you  hear  the  truth.  It  ain't 
all  the  time  that  the  voice  goes.  It's  only  in  good 
weather  that  they  hear  it,  so  they  say.  D'yer  know, 
ther's  mighty  queer  things  goin'  roun'  here,  anyhow  1 
Look  at  that  thing  what  we-all  saw  las'  night.  I'd 
iike  ter  run  across  that  again." 

Liver  had  evidently  shaken  off  all  fear  of  that 
venerable  spectre — for  a  spectre  he  fully  believed  it 
to  be.  He  made  this  evident  when  I  reproved  him 
for  firing  at  it  when  he  had  seen  it  the  night  before, 
saying  that  it  was  undoubtedly  a  lunatic  that  had 
escaped  from  somewhere. 

"  Lunatic— loco,  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Liver,  scornfully. 
"Now,  jus'  you  tell  me  where  that  ther'  lunatic  er 
yourn  is  a-go'n'  ter  escape  from." 

Liver  had  rather  the  better  of  the  argument.  There 
certainly  was  no  place  in  that  vicinity  where  such  a 
creature  would  be  likely  to  be  confined.  I  had  not  much 
faith  in  my  own  theory ;  therefore  I  made  no  attempt 
to  answer  Liver's  question,  further  than  by  disclaim 
ing  the  ownership  with  which  he  had  invested  me. 

"  I  reckon  it's  a  ghost  er  some  kind  er  other,"  mused 
Liver,  after  a  while.  "  Ther'  ain't  much  doubt  about 
that.  I'd  like  mighty  well  ter  ketch  the  thing  an' 
see  what  it's  like.  I'd  keep  it  fer  a  while." 

I  pointed  out  to  Liver  that  if  his  theory  was  correct, 
such  a  capture  would  be  difficult,  not  to  say  impossible. 
He  did  not  seem,  however,  to  grasp  the  physical 
difficulties  that  stood  in  his  way,  but  rather  regarded 
what  I  said  as  a  prejudice  of  mine  against  having 
such  a  thing  loose  around  the  camp. 

235 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  Well,  if  you  wouldn't  let  me  keep  it  alive,  I  reckon 
I  might  have  it  stuffed,"  said  he. 

This  was  really  becoming  too  frivolous,  and  I 
checked  Liver  in  his  speculations  concerning  stuffed 
spectres.  He  hastened  to  explain,  however,  that 
though,  of  course,  he  was  fully  aware  of  the  accepted 
idea  that  you  could  not  capture  a  creature  of  this  sort 
li  no  more'n  you  could  a  puff  er  rifle-smoke,"  still  he 
could  see  no  reason  why  a  thing  that  looked  so  like  a 
man,  and  seemed  to  hold  together  in  a  manner  that 
was  not  at  all  smoke-like,  could  not  be  captured  in 
the  same  way  that  any  other  creature  might  be,  and, 
for  his  part,  he  intended  to  try,  if  the  opportunity 
should  arise.  He  was  making  this  plain  at  some 
length,  when  suddenly  he  interrupted  himself. 

"  Look  at  that !  "  he  cried  exultingly.  "  Talk  er 
the  devil— look  at  that !  " 

With  this  seemingly  quite  irrelevant  observation, 
Liver  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse  and  darted  away 
over  the  desert,  drawing  his  pistol  as  he  went.  I 
could  see  nothing  except  that  a  remolino— one  of  the 
little  whirlwinds  that  are  eternally  spinning  about 
over  the  desert— had  formed  in  the  mouth  of  a  gorge 
that  led  through  the  cliff  from  the  mesa  to  the  river- 
flat,  and  that  it  had  danced  a  little  way  out  into  the 
plain,  and,  except  for  its  rotary  motion,  stood  almost 
still.  Then  it  gradually  dissolved.  As  the  dust  it  had 
gathered  slowly  dissipated,  the  figure  of  the  old  man 
came  into  view  more  and  more  distinctly  as  the  air 
surrounding  him  cleared. 

With  one  hand  extended  as  though  in  welcome,  the 
236 


The  Wind  Wraith 

figure  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  intently  at  Liver, 
who  was  speeding  toward  it  over  the  plain.  Then, 
apparently  catching  sight  of  the  pistol,  it  made  with 
its  staff  a  gesture  of  menace. 

"  Throw  up  yer  han's  !  "  yelled  Liver. 

The  figure  passed  quickly  into  the  gorge  and  dis 
appeared.  At  the  same  moment  Liver  fired,  and  the 
ball  tossed  up  a  little  sand  where  the  figure  had  been. 
Arriving  a  second  later,  Liver  sprang  from  his  horse, 
and  without  hesitation  followed  the  apparition  into 
the  gorge. 

So  astonished  was  I  by  this  affair  that  unconsciously 
I  had  stopped  my  horse  and  sat  gaping  at  the  scene 
before  me.  Now,  as  Liver  vanished,  I  spurred  forward. 
I  do  not  know  why  I  did  this.  Perhaps  it  was  be 
cause  I  feared  that  Liver  might  find  himself  in  the 
clutches  of  a  maniac,  or  perhaps  it  was  only  because 
I,  too,  wanted  to  see  what  had  become  of  the  creature, 
whatever  it  was.  At  all  events,  I  followed  him.  It 
was  useless,  however,  for  just  as  I  arrived,  Liver 
emerged  from  the  mouth  of  the  gorge,  looking  very 
red  and  hot.  Without  a  word  he  mounted  his  horse. 

"  Well  1? "  I  said  inquiringly. 

"No  good,"  growled  Liver.  " Didn't  have  no  luck 
at  all.  He— that  thing— jus'  went  in  amongs'  them 
rocks,  an'  then  he  must  'a'  gone  out  like  a  blowed-out 
match.  Thought  he  might  'a'  hid  som'w'er's,  so  I 
crawled  roun'  ter  see.  Couldn't  find  hide  ner  hair. 
Oh,  he's  a  spook,  all  right  enough,  you  bet  yer." 

Now,  I  did  not  for  a  moment  suppose  that  the 
creature  was  a  spirit,  or  spook,  as  Liver  put  it,  yet  it 

237 


Sand  and  Cactus 

certainly  was  out  of  the  common  and  very  mysterious 
— not  at  all  the  sort  of  thing  that  one  would  have 
a  right  to  expect  on  an  Arizona  desert.  Still,  that 
was  no  reason  why  it  should  be  shot  at  in  this  pro 
miscuous  kind  of  way.  It  had  done  us  no  manner 
of  harm,  and  very  probably  it  would  object  to  hav 
ing  pistol-balls  shot  into  it.  Once  more  I  remon 
strated  with  Liver  about  his  conduct  in  this  respect. 

"  Pistol-balls  don't  seem  ter  hurt  him  none,  not  that 
I  c'n  see,"  he  growled  in  reply. 

"  That's  true  enough,"  I  agreed  j  "  but  that's  because 
you  can't  shoot.  The  balls  would  have  hurt  him  if 
you  hadn't  missed." 

Indignant  at  this  slur  on  his  marksmanship,  Liver 
edged  his  horse  away  from  mine,  and  for  some  time 
rode  along  in  a  dignified  silence.  After  a  while  he 
edged  back  again. 

"  There  he  comes  again,  I  reckon,"  said  he,  pointing 
over  the  desert  in  a  direction  directly  opposite  that 
in  which  the  old  man  had  been  going  when  he  disap 
peared.  I  looked,  and  near  the  horizon  I  saw  a  black 
speck. 

"You  haven't  got  it  into  your  head  that  it's  the  old 
man  you  just  saw,  have  you  ? "  I  asked  in  some  sur 
prise.  "Why,  to  be  over  there  he'd  have  to  travel 
faster  than  a  rifle-ball.  Do  be  sensible,  or  as  near  it 
as  you  can." 

"  He's  jus'  the  boy  what  can  travel  faster'n  a  rifle- 
ball  if  he  wants  ter,"  rejoined  Liver.  "  Anyhow,  we'd 
better  go  'n'  see  who  it  is." 

I  agreed  to  that.  I  thought  it  very  likely  that  I 
238 


The  Wind  Wraith 

was  wanted  at  the  camp,  and  that  the  dot  we  saw  was 
some  one  sent  out  to  look  for  me.  We  turned  our 
horses  and  rode  along  toward  it. 

"  It  ain't  the  ol'  man,  anyhow,"  said  Liver,  after 
a  while.  "  That's  one  sure  thing.  It's  a  waggin  er 
some  kind  er  another,  an'  it's  only  got  one  horse.  It's 
a-coinin'  right  along,  too." 

Liver  had  the  sharpest  eyes  I  ever  saw.  For  a  long 
time  I  could  only  make  out  that  the  speck  was  mov 
ing.  As  it  came  closer  I  saw  that  it  was  a  buggy, 
dust-covered  and  rickety,  drawn  by  a  mule.  The 
mule  was  going  at  a  reluctant  gallop,  urged  by  a 
whip  that  was  fast  wearing  out,  as  a  woman,  who 
was  driving,  plied  it  vigorously. 

"  That's  Billy  Tilson's  mule  an'  go-cart  what  she's 
got,"  said  Liver.  "He's  the  feller  what  keeps  that 
ther'  little  canvas  saloon  over  to  Biscuit  City.  Won 
der  what  she's  doin'  here  ? " 

I  wondered,  too.     "Who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

"  She  ?  Don't  you  know  ?  "  asked  Liver,  in  some 
surprise.  "  Why,  that's  the  woman  what  runs  the 
store  where— where  I  was  yesterday,  you  know.  I 
don't  reckon  she  wants  ter  see  us  any  too  bad,  though. 
S'pose  we  pull  on  home." 

The  woman  had  turned  aside  a  little,  and  at  first 
came  toward  us,  but  as  she  saw  who  we  were,  she  re 
sumed  her  former  course,  wilich,  if  followed,  would 
take  her  by  us  some  distance  away. 

Liver  was  observing  her  sharply. 

"  Reckon  maybe  we'd  better  go  'n'  see  what's  wrong 
with  her,  though,  after  all,"  said  he.  "  She's  up 

239 


Sand  and  Cactus 

against  it  somehow,  an'  maybe  we  c'n  help.  She's 
cryin',  see?" 

I  had  not  seen  that  when  Liver  spoke.  My  aston 
ishment  at  seeing  a  woman  in  such  a  place  was  but 
little  less  than  that  inspired  by  the  appearance  of 
Liver's  ghostly  friend. 

The  woman  was  rather  a  well-looking  person,  mid 
dle-aged  and  dark-skinned,  with  black  hair  touched 
with  gray,  and  piercing  eyes  that  I  soon  discovered 
were  red  and  swollen  from  recent  tears.  She  was 
evidently  a  person  of  refinement,  a  lady,  which  made 
her  seem  more  out  of  place  than  ever  in  such  an 
equipage  and  on  that  desert  plain.  The  way  she  was 
driving  led  to  nowhere  at  all,  but  she  was  making 
most  urgent  haste. 

Though  I  did  not  like  to  appear  intrusive,  I  could 
not  allow  her  to  go  by  in  such  evident  distress  without 
at  least  making  an  offer  of  help.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation,  I  galloped  alongside  her  buggy  and  asked 
if  I  could  be  of  service  to  her  in  any  way. 

"  No ;  I  require  nothing,"  said  she,  sharply,  with  an 
accent  not  American.  "  Certainly  I  wish  for  nothing 
from  you— you  who  are  about  to  ruin  us— except  to 
be  left  in  peace.  I  wish  that  I  may  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  you." 

There  was  no  replying  to  a  rebuff  like  that.  I 
raised  my  hat,  and,  reining  in  my  horse,  allowed  her 
to  pass  on.  After  all,  she  could  come  to  no  great 
harm  as  long  as  she  stood  to  her  present  course.  It 
was  in  getting  lost  on  the  desert  that  the  danger  lay. 
A  little  farther  on  she  would  come  to  the  river-bank, 

240 


The  Wind  Wraith 

and  that  would  guide  her.  Liver  sat  gazing  after  the 
buggy  until  a  rise  in  the  desert  hid  it  from  us,  and 
then  rejoined  me. 

"  S'pose  it's  that  ther*  commissary  what  we're  put- 
tin'  up  is  what  she  means  when  she  says  we're  tryin' 
ter  ruin  her,"  said  he.  "  She  oughter  know,  though, 
that  it's  the  company,  not  us,  what's  doin'  that.  But 
she  was  dead  rattled  'bout  sunthin'.  I  don't  reckon 
she'd  'a'  took  us  up  so  sharp  if  she  hadn't  been.  May 
be  she  seen  that  ther*  ghost  what  I  was  er-chasin',  an 
that  scared  her." 

Liver  had  unlimited  faith  in  the  locomotive  power 
of  his  ghost,  and  this  faith  I  did  not  now  stop  to 
combat.  Striking  into  a  hard  gallop,  I  made  the  best 
of  my  way  back  to  the  camp. 

That  evening  our  adventures  were  known  through 
out  the  camp.  Liver  had  told  them,  of  course.  He 
was  no  longer  reticent  about  his  supernatural  ex 
periences,  as  he  considered  them.  It  was  not  neces 
sary,  for  belief  was  wide-spread,  and  fresh  tales  of 
this  kind  were  no  longer  in  danger  of  exciting  derision. 
Most  of  the  men  would  have  hesitated  before  leaving 
the  camp  without  company. 

That  these  men,  in  a  camp  like  ours,  believed  more 
readily  in  the  supernatural  than  they  would  have  done 
in  surroundings  more  commonplace  is  not  a  thing  to 
be  wondered  at.  The  very  immensity  of  the  desert 
and  its  emptiness  breeds  a  mystery  that  is  conducive 
to  such  belief.  Here  we  were,  set  down  on  this  great 
sandy  waste  that  reached  for  hundreds  of  miles  in 
one  direction  and  for  thousands  in  the  other  three. 

241 


Sand  and  Cactus 

A  mile  from  the  camp,  except  along  the  banks  of  the 
river,  one  was  as  far  away,  practically,  from  all  hu 
manity  as  though  hundreds  of  miles  lay  between  one's 
self  and  the  next  human  being.  Here  a  whole  colony 
might  live  and  die,  and,  unless  by  the  merest  chance, 
no  one  would  know  of  its  existence.  Afterward,  less 
than  three  miles  from  our  camp,  the  remains  of  a  tent 
and  the  skeletons  of  three  men  were  found  on  the 
open  plain.  They  had  been  there  for  years,  probably. 

This  superstitious  fear,  however,  did  not  prevent 
the  progress  of  the  work.  That  was  most  satisfactory. 
Our  force  increased  hour  by  hour,  and  we  were  fast 
working  into  the  regular  construction.  The  prepara 
tory  stage  was  passing  quickly.  The  building  that 
was  to  shelter  our  store  was  almost  completed  the  day 
following  the  one  on  which  Liver  and  I  had  our  ad 
venture.  Its  canvas  roof  was  already  in  place,  and 
the  fly  roof  of  redwood  shakes  nearly  finished.  The 
rough  counters  were  in  place,  and  in  the  evening  the 
goods  were  moved  in,  to  be  unpacked  the  next 
morning. 

I  was  up  late  that  night,  busy  with  my  first  report. 
Liver  had  spread  his  blankets  in  a  variety  of  places, 
first  on  the  floor  of  the  office,  then  on  the  veranda ; 
but  the  heat  of  the  night  was  stifling,  and  he  could 
not  sleep.  After  several  vain  attempts,  he  gave  it 
up,  and  rolling  his  blankets,  strolled  disgustedly  away. 
Except  for  the  distant  yell  of  some  reveller  in  one  of 
the  saloons  that  had  sprung  like  mushrooms  along 
our  line,  or  for  the  occasional  yelp  of  a  coyote  on  the 
desert,  there  was  no  sound. 

242 


The  Wind  Wraith 

I  had  finished  my  report  and  was  putting  it  into 
the  envelope,  when  I  was  startled  by  a  shout  coming 
from  the  river-flat  below  the  office.  Then  there  was 
a  volley  of  oaths,  two  or  three  shots,  and  the  rush  of 
galloping  horses,  accompanied  by  more  shots,  that 
grew  faint  in  the  distance  during  the  instant  that  I 
listened.  A  single  pistol  answered  them,  until,  its 
six  cartridges  exhausted,  it  became  silent.  Then 
Liver's  voice  rang  out. 

"Fire!"  it  caUed.  "Fire!  Help  here,  quick! 
Fire  !  Fire  !  " 

From  the  engineers'  quarters  there  came  a  buzz  of 
voices  and  a  shuffling  of  feet  as  the  men  were  roused 
from  their  sleep.  From  my  window  I  could  see  that 
a  column  of  smoke  from  the  flat  ascended  straight  into 
the  air  until  a  faint  upper  current  caught  it  and  bore 
it  gracefully  northward.  I  ran  to  the  edge  of  the 
mesa,  and  as  I  reached  it  the  newly  erected  store  burst 
into  a  glare  of  flames,  which  lighted  the  river  valley 
as  far  as  I  could  see  in  each  direction.  It  showed 
the  workmen  rushing  from  the  places  where  they  had 
stowed  themselves  to  sleep ;  it  showed  Liver,  near  the 
fire,  bending  over  a  man  that  was  wounded  and  lying 
on  the  ground.  A  few  of  the  lighter  goods  had  been 
rolled  out  on  to  the  sand,  and  they  were  even  now 
smoking  from  the  heat  sent  out  by  the  burning  store. 
Of  course  there  was  no  hope  of  saving  the  building. 
The  light  and  dry  materials  of  which  it  was  made 
offered  the  flames  too  good  a  chance. 

A  sunken  trail  led  down  the  cliff.  I  stumbled 
through  its  dark  length  and  emerged  into  the  glare 

243 


Sand  and  Cactus 

of  the  flat.  When  I  reached  it,  Liver  had  pulled  the 
wounded  man  farther  away  from  the  flames,  and  was 
trying  to  stop  the  blood  that  flowed  from  his  breast 
with  a  bandanna  handkerchief.  The  flat  swarmed 
with  men,  but  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  but 
to  remove  the  few  goods  that  had  been  thrown  out  of 
the  store.  In  a  few  seconds  this  was  done,  and  they 
gathered  about  Liver  and  the  man  to  whom  he  was 
attending.  As  I  approached,  Liver  rose  to  his  feet 
and  wiped  his  forehead  on  his  shirt-sleeve. 

"  I  reckon  it's  all  up  with  him,"  he  said,  very  gravely. 

I  bent  over  the  man  and  examined  him.  He  was  dead. 

"  I  s'pose,"  Liver  went  on,  musingly,  "  that  pullin' 
him  over  here  didn't  do  him  no  good— but  it  only 
hurried  things  a  little,  though,  I  reckon.  Anyhow,  I 
couldn'  leave  him  there  to  be  roasted." 

None  of  us  knew  just  what  had  happened.  It 
seems,  as  Liver  explained,  that  the  man  who  was  killed 
had  been  appointed  by  the  foreman  to  sleep  in  the 
store  in  order  to  guard  the  goods  that  were  placed 
there.  He  had  probably  been  waked  by  those  who 
came  to  set  fire  to  the  store,  and  jumping  from  his 
cot,  had  shot  at  them.  The  fire  was  returned,  and  he 
fell  just  as  Liver,  who  had  been  wandering  aimlessly 
about,  came  running  up.  Liver  had  left  his  own 
pistol  in  the  office,  but  catching  up  the  one  dropped 
by  the  wounded  watchman,  he  emptied  it  at  the  re 
treating  incendiaries.  Then  he  tried  to  put  out  the 
fire  with  sand,  and  failing,  rolled  out  the  goods  that 
were  light  enough  for  him  to  handle,  and  raised  the 
cry  for  help  that  I  had  heard. 
244 


The  Wind  Wraith 

The  incendiaries  were  evidently  from  the  camp  of 
the  South  Bank  Company.  No  other  people  would 
have  had  an  interest  in  the  destruction  of  our  store. 
Our  men  were  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  done  with 
the  knowledge  of  the  officers  of  that  company,  and  I 
also  rather  inclined  to  that  view.  They  derived  a 
considerable  income  from  their  store  at  Biscuit  City, 
and  a  break  in  the  monopoly  they  enjoyed  would  not 
be  welcomed. 

Preparation  for  the  pursuit  of  the  fire-bugs  began 
at  once.  All  the  horses  that  could  be  mustered  under 
the  saddle  were  made  ready — there  were  only  about 
twenty  of  them— and  the  men  mounted.  Bailey, 
Liver,  and  I  joined  them,  and  we  swung  away  at  a 
hand-gallop  down  the  river  trail.  Other  men  were 
hurriedly  putting  horses  to  the  big  wagons  as  we  left. 
In  case  of  meeting  an  enemy  of  a  force  superior  to 
ours,  we  would  only  have  to  hold  him  in  check  until 
these  wagons  with  their  loads  should  arrive  as  reen- 
forcements. 

The  moon  hung  nearly  overhead  in  the  sky,  so  that 
the  shadow  of  the  cliff  was  narrow  and  growing  nar 
rower  as  each  minute  passed.  The  trail  of  the  incen 
diaries  was  very  plain.  They  had  followed  the  road 
for  a  short  distance,  and  then  had  struck  off  to  the 
right  over  the  smooth  sand  of  the  flat,  where  their 
track  was  as  clearly  to  be  seen  as  though  it  was 
another  road. 

In  order  to  guard  against  surprise,  two  men  rode 
fifty  yards  ahead,  while  the  rest  followed  in  a  body. 
No  one  spoke.  The  only  sounds  that  broke  the  silence 
245 


Sand  and  Cactus 

of  the  night  were  the  pad  of  the  horses'  hoofs  on  the 
sand,  like  the  roll  of  a  muffled  drum  heard  from  a 
distance,  the  occasional  creak  of  a  saddle,  and  the  low 
click  of  the  spur-chains  as  they  rapped  against  the 
stirrups. 

Once,  one  of  the  men  who  rode  ahead  held  up  his 
hand  to  attract  attention,  and  then  pointed  to  a  dark 
object  he  was  passing  as  it  lay  on  the  ground.  In 
another  moment  we  also  were  passing  it,  and  could 
see  that  it  was  the  body  of  a  man,  lying  as  it  had 
evidently  fallen  from  a  horse.  Its  arms  were  ex 
tended,  and  on  the  breast  of  its  shirt  was  a  stain  that 
looked  black  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Liver  or  the  watchman  got  one  of  them,  then,  after 
all,"  said  Bailey  in  a  whisper,  as  he  rode  by  my  side. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  those  two  men  ? "  he  added, 
a  moment  later,  pointing  to  our  advance-guard,  which 
had  suddenly  halted. 

"  They've  doubled  on  us,"  said  one  of  the  two  men 
—the  one  who  had  pointed  out  the  body— as  we  over 
took  them.  "  They  wheeled  here— see  ?— an'  then  put 
back.  They  went  quicker'n  they  came,  too  ;  jus'  look 
at  the  way  them  tracks  stretch.  They'll  ride  right 
inter  the  wagons,  if  they  don't  look  out." 

Turning  their  horses,  the  two  men  spurred  them 
on  along  the  trail  of  our  enemies,  and  after  waiting 
for  a  moment  until  they  gained  their  distance,  we  fol 
lowed. 

Just  what  the  fugitives  hoped  to  gain  by  this  move 
of  theirs  I  could  not  see,  yet  it  made  me  uneasy.  If 
by  any  chance  they  should  evade  the  wagons,  they 

246 


The  Wind  Wraith 

miglit  pass  on  to  our  camp,  which  would  then  be  at 
their  mercy. 

For  some  distance  we  galloped  on.  A  bend  of  the 
river  brought  it  closer  to  the  mesa;  the  tracks  held 
their  line  unchanged  until  they  reached  the  river. 
Here  they  stopped,  and  all  traces  of  them  were  lost  in 
the  slowly  running  water  of  the  Gila.  Our  men 
stopped. 

"Come  on,"  I  cried.  "They've  only  crossed  the 
river.  We  can  catch  them  yet,  if  we  hurry." 

I  was  about  to  push  into  the  water  when  an  elderly 
man— Texas,  they  called  him— reached  quickly  for 
ward  and  caught  my  bridle-rein. 

"  Hoi'  on,"  said  he,  quietly.  "  We've  seen  the  end 
of  it— they  nevah  crossed.  Why,  the  quicksand  in 
theah  would  swallah  a  train  o'  freight-cyahs." 

For  a  little  time  the  men  sat  gazing  at  the  tracks 
on  the  wet  sand  of  the  river-bank.  Finally  one  of 
the  advance-guard  spoke. 

"  Tell  yer  what,"  said  he.  "  It's  mos'  sunrise  now. 
I  reckon  I'll  poke  along  down  ter  that  ther7  South 
Bank  camp.  They  don't  know  me,  an'  maybe  I  c'n 
fin'  out  what's  goin'  on.  Then  I'll  come  back  an'  tell 
you." 

"  Bes'  thing  you  kin  do,"  agreed  Texas. 

The  man  cantered  away,  and  we  rode  slowly  back 
to  the  trail,  where  the  rumble  of  the  wagons  told  us 
that  they  were  coming  as  quickly  as  their  six-horse 
teams  could  go.  They  came  in  sight  around  a  point 
of  the  cliff  as  we  reached  the  road.  The  men  were  in 
high  spirits,  shouting  and  singing  as  they  came. 

247 


Sand  and  Cactus 

As  the  drivers  saw  us,  the  wagons  stopped,  and  our 
men  cantered  forward  to  meet  them.  The  singing 
stopped,  also,  and  its  place  was  taken  by  questions 
that  were  flung  at  us  in  volleys.  Our  men  eased 
themselves  in  their  saddles  and  told  their  story  at  full 
length,  glad  to  have  listeners.  Considerable  surprise 
was  expressed  at  the  unexpected  end  of  our  chase,  and 
a  good  deal  of  discussion  was  aroused  by  it.  This 
discussion  was  still  going  on  when  the  wagons,  with 
much  scraping  of  wheels,  crashed  into  the  underbrush 
by  the  side  of  the  trail,  jolted,  heaved,  and  finally 
regained  the  road  with  their  horses  headed  toward 
home.  The  men  were  still  discussing  the  probable 
cause  of  our  adversaries'  conduct.  One  of  them  fa 
cetiously  hazarded  the  theory  that,  suddenly  stricken 
with  remorse,  they  had  rushed  back  in  order  to  com 
mit  suicide. 

"  I  tell  yer  what  was  the  matter  with  them  fellers," 
said  another.  "  They  saw  that  ther'  ol'  man  with  a 
beard.  That's  what  made  'em  turn." 

"  Maybe  it  is,  an'  then  maybe  it  ain't,"  said  the  driver 
of  the  wagon  in  which  the  speaker  sat.  "  But  whether 
it  is  er  it  ain't,  you  don't  wanter  go  talkin'  'bout  no 
such  things  as  that— not  here.  Don't  you  know  that's 
jus'  the  way  ter  make  him  come  ter  see  us  ?  An'  we 
don't  wanter  see  him  none,  I  reckon." 

In  order  to  rebuke  the  former  speaker,  the  driver 
had  turned  in  his  seat.  As  he  turned  back  to  his 
former  position,  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Look— there!"  he  cried.  "What'd  I  tell  yer? 
Look ! " 

248 


The  Wind  Wraith 

He  pointed  with  his  whip  at  a  rectangular  cleft  in  the 
rock  of  the  cliffs,  and  there,  with  the  brilliant  moon 
light  falling  full  upon  it,  stood  the  figure  of  the  old  man. 

Inside  the  cleft  there  was  deepest  shadow;  the 
white  figure,  with  this  background  of  dull  black,  was 
framed  on  three  sides  by  the  glistening  volcanic  rock 
of  the  cliff,  relieved  by  the  Indian  hieroglyphs  of 
gray,  which  glimmered  faintly  in  the  moonlight,  as 
though  they  were  phosphorescent. 

The  men,  both  mounted  and  in  the  wagons,  were 
silent.  Not  even  the  clank  of  a  trace-chain  broke  the 
stillness;  the  horses  themselves  seemed  struck  with 
fear.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  the  old  man 
at  so  short  a  distance.  Now  he  was  not  more  than 
twenty  yards  away  from  me,  and  the  light  fell  full 
upon  his  face.  It  was  a  strong  face,  handsome  and 
highly  bred,  with  piercing  black  eyes  under  heavy 
white  eyebrows,  and  an  aquiline  nose.  He  did  not 
seem  angry.  Instead  he  smiled  on  us,  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  as  I  had  seen  him  do  to  Liver,  with  a 
gesture  that  seemed  to  express  benediction  or  wel 
come.  Then,  dropping  his  arms,  he  set  his  staff  on 
the  rock  and  seemed  as  though  he  was  about  to  de 
scend  to  us.  I  heard  some  one  smother  an  oath  in 
his  throat ;  then  the  flash  of  a  pistol  burned  a  red 
streak  in  the  white  moonlight.  The  man  who  fired 
was  the  one  who  had  been  rebuked  for  speaking  of 
the  apparition.  He  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
fear  of  the  apparition  that  he  thought  he  had  sum 
moned,— I  could  see  that,— and  probably  had  some 
hazy  idea  of  making  amends  for  having  done  so. 

249 


Sand  and  Cactus 

As  the  report  rang  out,  the  face  of  the  old  man 
changed.  Instead  of  the  benignant  smile,  it  assumed 
an  expression  of  great  rage,  and  he  held  his  staff  ex 
tended  toward  us,  as  though  in  solemn  anathema. 
Then  he  stepped  back  into  the  shadows  that  filled 
the  interior  of  the  cleft  and  disappeared,  as  Liver  had 
said,  like  the  flame  of  a  match  that  is  blown  out. 

"  God  help  us,  it's  the  devil  himself ! "  shrieked  a 
man  sitting  in  one  of  the  wagons. 

"  The  devil !  The  devil !  The  devil  himself !  "  was 
instantly  shrieked  in  answer.  It  was  repeated  over 
and  over  again,  growing  fainter  with  each  repetition 
as  the  echo  was  tossed  from  cliff  to  cliff. 

This  was  the  finishing  stroke.  With  a  yell  the 
driver  of  the  foremost  wagon  rose  in  his  seat  and 
curled  his  long  lash  around  the  bodies  of  his  team  as 
fast  as  his  arm  could  ply  the  whip.  The  wagon 
started  with  a  jerk,  and  the  other  wagons  immediately 
followed.  From  some  instinctive  feeling  of  pride,  the 
mounted  party  waited  until  the  wagons  had  passed, 
and  then  fell  in  and  cantered  along  behind  them. 

"  What  is  it  that  they're  all  so  frightened  at  now  1 " 
I  said  to  Texas,  who  was  riding  at  my  side,  in  a  voice 
that  I  tried  to  make  unconcerned.  "  It  was  only  an 
echo." 

"  'Twahn't  all  an  echo,"  he  replied,  speaking  very 
gravely.  "  That  theah  pistol-shot  echoed,  but  it  didn' 
soun'  noway  like  that." 

This  was  quite  true,  and  I  had  known  it  all  along, 
but  would  not  admit  it,  even  to  myself.  Though  still 
I  did  not  believe  that  the  being  which  had  appeared  to 

250 


The  Wind  Wraith 

us  was  supernatural,  yet  I  could  formulate  no  theory 
as  to  who  or  what  it  was  that  satisfied  me.  But  then, 
I  was  a  good  deal  startled,  just  at  that  time. 

It  was  sunrise  when  we  reached  our  camp.  As  the 
sun  rose,  so  did  the  wind;  the  sand  began  to  fly  a 
little,  and  in  a  manner  that  promised  that  more  would 
fly  as  the  day  wore  on.  Breakfast  was  prepared  and 
disposed  of  as  quickly  as  possible.  We  had  hardly 
finished  when  the  man  who  had  gone  to  the  camp 
of  the  South  Bank  Company  came  in  to  report. 

His  news  was  not  cheering.  The  camp  of  the  rival 
company,  he  said,  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement 
about  a  party  that  had  left  the  night  before,  but  had 
not  returned.  One  of  their  horses  had  come  in, 
saddle  empty,  and  this  was  the  only  trace  they  had. 
To  us,  it  seems,  they  gave  the  credit  of  the  disap 
pearance  of  their  friends,  and  for  this  they  had  de 
termined  to  take  summary  vengeance.  In  this  course 
they  were  encouraged  by  their  foremen  and  superin 
tendent,  who  for  some  time  had  been  preaching  a 
crusade  against  us. 

"  They're  sure  a-comin',"  concluded  our  informant. 
"  I  know  that,  'cause  they're  sorter  gettin'  ready.  I 
seen  'em  myself.  An'  it'll  be  prutty  soon,  'less  this 
san'  that's  jus'  started  a-flyin'  keeps  'em  back.  Well, 
I  reckon  I'll  go  'n'  get  some  grub  now,  an'  turn  in." 

It  did  not  seem  likely  that  we  would  be  attacked 
while  the  sand-storm  was  in  progress.  Still,  one  never 
could  tell,  and  in  the  opinion  of  the  older  men,  expe 
rienced  in  this  kind  of  impromptu  warfare,  it  was 
possible  that  our  enemies  might  take  advantage  of 
25I 


Sand  and  Cactus 

the  storm  in  order  to  attempt  a  surprise.  At  all 
events,  it  was  better  to  be  prepared.  The  adobe  office 
building  was  hastily  made  ready.  Loopholes  were 
made  in  the  doors,  and  sand-bags  lay  ready  to  barri 
cade  them.  More  loopholes,  with  much  labor,  were 
made  in  the  adobe  walls.  Provisions  and  water— es 
pecially  water— were  brought  in  and  stored.  The 
storm  increased  in  force.  Everything  was  colored  a 
dismal  grayish  yellow ;  and  in  spite  of  the  sun  that 
was  shining  brilliantly  into  the  dust,  one  could  hardly 
see  five  times  his  length.  All  that  morning  we  were 
at  work ;  it  was  past  noon  when  we  finished. 

Most  of  the  men,  thoroughly  tired  out,  went  in 
search  of  their  sleeping-places,  wherever  they  were. 
The  engineer  corps,  together  with  Texas  and  a  few  of 
the  mechanics,  stayed  in  the  office,  dozing  and  watch 
ing  by  turns.  Outside  the  office  no  watch  was  kept ; 
it  would  have  been  useless  in  that  weather,  for  there 
was  not  one  chance  in  fifty  that  any  approach  could 
be  detected. 

The  afternoon  had  dragged  itself  on  toward  even 
ing.  Standing  on  the  sheltered  side  of  the  veranda, 
I  thought  I  dimly  saw  something  move  across  the 
plain.  I  strained  my  eyes  to  the  utmost,  trying  to 
make  out  what  it  was,  when  some  particles  of  adobe 
clay  from  the  wall  beside  me  flew  with  stinging  force 
against  my  cheek.  I  heard  nothing,  but  on  turning 
my  head  I  saw  on  the  sun-baked  brick  of  the  wall  a 
silvery  splash  of  flattened  lead.  Before  I  could  move 
another  one  came,  and  still  another.  I  turned  and 
ran.  When  I  reached  the  door,  I  found  that  some 

252 


The  Wind  Wraith 

one  was  holding  it  open  for  me ;  as  soon  as  I  entered 
it  was  closed  and  sand-bags  were  piled  against  it. 

Catching  up  a  rifle,  I  took  my  place  at  a  window ; 
but  I  could  see  nothing  to  shoot  at.  Holes  in  the 
lifted  panes  told  of  bullets  that  had  come  through, 
and  from  time  to  time  another  hole  would  appear, 
and  a  little  powdered  glass  would  fly  noiselessly  into 
the  room.  This  sort  of  thing  was  very  trying  to  the 
nerves.  The  men  were  shifting  their  positions  un 
easily,  and  peering  harder  than  ever  into  the  thickness 
outside.  Finally  I  saw  two  spots,  dull  and  coppery 
red,  that  appeared  and  instantly  vanished.  They 
were  rifle-flashes.  Other  men  saw  them  as  quickly  as 
I,  and  a  dozen  of  our  rifles  replied.  We  could  hardly 
hear  the  reports,  and  the  flashes,  snatched  from  the 
muzzles,  were  carried  away  by  the  wind. 

Then,  a  few  yards  to  the  leeward  of  our  office,  there 
was  a  great  flash,  yellower  because  more  powerful 
than  those  made  by  the  rifles.  A  muffled  thud  fol 
lowed  it,  and  the  window  that  faced  in  that  direction 
fell  inward  as  though  some  one  had  pushed  it  with 
both  hands.  In  an  instant  the  room  was  filled  with  a 
back  current  of  swirling  dust. 

"That  there  was  a  stick  er  dynamite,  I  reckon," 
said  Texas,  calmly  blowing  into  the  dusty  breech  of 
his  Winchester.  He  laid  down  his  rifle,  as  he  spoke, 
and  went  to  help  one  of  the  carpenters,  who  had 
snatched  up  hammer  and  nails,  and  was  trying  to 
hold  a  drawing-board  over  the  window  until  he  could 
nail  it  there. 

"  Didn't  make  quite  enough  allowance  fer  the  wind," 

253 


Sand  and  Cactus 

commented  the  carpenter.  "  They'll  fetch  us  next 
time,  I  reckon." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  some  one  standing  at 
a  window  gave  a  warning  cry. 

"  Here  it  comes ! "  he  shouted.  "  Get  back !  Back 
for  your  lives !  " 

We  rushed  to  the  most  remote  part  of  the  big  room 
and  waited.  I  have  no  idea  how  long  it  was.  I  saw 
Bailey  open  his  mouth  to  speak,  and  I  knew  that  he 
was  going  to  say  that  he  thought  the  fuse  must  have 
gone  out.  Finally  the  walls  at  which  we  had  been 
standing  raised,  hesitated,  then  crumbled  and  fell,  and 
for  an  instant  the  shattered  room  was  filled  with  the 
acrid  fumes  of  dynamite,  which  were  dispersed  by  the 
wind  almost  before  one  had  time  to  notice  them. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  lull,  and  for  an  instant 
we  could  see  some  of  our  adversaries.  Most  of  them 
were  sheltered  behind  the  rocks  that  littered  the 
mesa,  but  one  was  standing,  and  in  an  attitude  that 
indicated  that  it  was  he  who  had  thrown  the  dy 
namite.  Two  or  three  of  our  men  fired,  and  he  threw 
up  his  arms ;  but  before  he  could  fall,  if  he  did  fall, 
the  sand  surrounded  and  concealed  him. 

A  faint  pop  reached  our  ears  as  a  volley  came  from 
our  opponents.  The  carpenter  who  had  nailed  up  the 
window  winced,  and  dropping  the  hammer,  he  fell  on 
it,  dead. 

At  each  puff  of  wind,  some  of  the  adobe  bricks, 
loosened  by  the  explosion,  fell  from  the  wall,  until 
one  end  of  the  room  and  most  of  one  side  were  open. 
The  situation  was  not  a  'pleasant  one.  We  had  none 

254 


The  Wind  Wraith 

of  us  reckoned  on  the  use  of  dynamite  by  our  enemies. 
Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sand-storm,  which 
enabled  them  to  get  so  near  us,  they  could  not  have 
used  it. 

There  was  another  puff  of  wind,  not  so  strong  as 
those  which  had  preceded  it.  Another  man  rose  from 
his  shelter,  and  we  could  vaguely  see  him  as  he  threw 
a  dynamite-stick,  and  follow  with  our  eyes  its  tail  of 
hissing  fuse  as  it  flew.  Caught  by  the  wind  in  mid- 
flight,  it  was  swept  aside,  and  fell  between  the  mesa 
and  the  pinnacle  of  rock  that  stood  close  beside  it. 

"Them  fellahs  don'  seem  to  get  the  hang  o'  this 
heah  win',  somehow,"  observed  Texas,  as  he  watched 
the  dynamite  in  its  flight.  "  They  can't  make  the— 
My  God— look !  Again !  " 

I  knew  what  to  expect  now.  On  top  of  the  giant 
splinter  of  rock,  with  outlines  hazy  in  the  flying  sand, 
stood  the  figure  of  the  old  man.  His  staff,  grasped  in 
one  hand,  rested  on  the  rock ;  with  the  other  hand  he 
was  beckoning  as  though  summoning  something  from 
the  sandy  clouds  above. 

"  He's  callin'  fer  more  wind,"  said  Liver  in  an  awe 
struck  tone. 

It  did  seem  as  though  he  was,  from  the  short,  fierce 
gust  that  swept  over  us.  At  the  same  time  there  was 
a  thud  from  the  base  of  the  great  rock  that  was  al 
ready  trembling  in  the  gale.  It  was  the  dynamite. 
Slowly,  and  at  first  almost  imperceptibly,  the  rocky 
pinnacle  bowed  toward  the  river. 

"  It's  falling !  "  shouted  Liver.  "  Jump  !  Jump  fer 
yer  life ! " 

255 


Sand  and  Cactus 

In  his  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  the  old  man,  Liver 
sprang  forward,  exposing  himself  recklessly.  No  one 
fired  at  him,  however.  At  the  same  time  I  caught  a 
faint  glimpse  of  a  couple  of  our  enemies.  It  was  the 
last  we  saw  of  them,  for  they,  too,  had  evidently 
caught  sight  of  the  old  man,  and  they  were  in  frantic 
retreat. 

The  old  man  made  no  attempt  to  jump.  He  heard 
what  Liver  said,  evidently,  for  he  turned  and  smiled  j 
then,  as  the  rock  drew  farther  away  from  us  in  its  fall, 
he  faced  toward  the  river  and  extended  his  arms  as 
though  flying,  and  so  vanished  into  the  storm.  We 
waited  for  what  seemed  hours  to  me.  Then  there 
was  a  sullen,  crashing  roar  as  the  fallen  pinnacle 
struck  the  flat,  a  roar  that  for  a  moment  seemed  to 
still  the  wind. 

The  men  turned  toward  one  another  and  grinned 
in  a  weak  kind  of  way.  One  of  them  took  a  flask 
from  his  pocket  and  drank,  then  passed  it  to  his 
neighbors.  It  was  a  large  flask,  but  was  emptied 
before  it  reached  far.  The  men  needed  it. 

The  office  building,  of  course,  was  ruined  beyond 
hope  of  repair.  While  there  was  light  enough  to 
work  by  we  busied  ourselves  in  caring  for  the  body 
of  the  man  who  had  been  killed  and  in  removing  the 
notes  and  instruments  to  a  place  of  safety.  As  we 
finished  the  sun  went  down,  and  with  it  the  wind. 
Darkness  immediately  followed. 

There  had  been  no  time  before  to  think  over  the 
late  affair ;  but  now  I  realized  that  I  was  considerably 
shaken,  and  so  were  the  others.  Our  work  for  the 

256 


The  Wind  Wraith 

time  being  finished,  we  sat  on  the  veranda  of  the 
ruined  office  to  rest  and  to  answer  the  eager  questions 
of  the  men  who  had  left  us  at  noon,  and  who  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  fight  when  it  was  going  on. 
Liver,  with  his  usual  restlessness,  wandered  about  the 
mesa,  searching  with  grim  satisfaction  for  the  slain  of 
our  enemies.  He  found  two,  lying  where  their  com 
rades  had  left  them.  There  were  no  more.  Some 
what  disappointed,  Liver  strolled  to  the  edge  of  the 
mesa,  and  for  some  time  stood  looking  intently  over. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  after  a  time.  "  There's  sun- 
thin'  down  here  on  the  flat— sunthin'  alive.  I  can  see 
it." 

"  I  can't  see  anything  except  a  sort  of  a  blot,"  said 
Bailey.  "  Can  any  of  you  ? " 

We  were  all  looking  over  the  cliff  by  this  time,  but 
we  could  make  out  nothing  at  all  defimte.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  spot  darker  than  the  rest,  but  I  could 
not  see  it  move. 

"It  ain't  movin'  now,  but  it  did  move,"  persisted 
Liver.  "It's  somebody  what  got  hurt  in  the  fight, 
mos'  like." 

"  No  matter  who  it  is,  we'd  better  go  down  and  see," 
said  I. 

There  were  counsels  against  this.  In  view  of  the 
recent  appearance  the  men  seemed  to  regard  it  in  the 
light  of  a  rather  dangerous  venture.  Still,  as  they 
saw  that  we  were  determined  to  start,  they  got  to 
gether  the  lanterns  that  were  left  unbroken,  and  ac 
companied  us  as  we  filed  through  the  sunken  trail 
down  the  cliff  and  passed  out  on  to  the  flat. 

257 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  fallen  rock,  broken  in  two  pieces,  lay  deeply 
embedded  in  the  sand  at  right  angles  to  the  cliff.  It 
blocked  our  path,  and  we  passed  between  the  two  frag 
ments.  Bailey,  who  was  in  the  lead,  stopped  and  lifted 
his  lantern.  Its  light  fell  upon  a  woman— the  woman 
of  the  store.  She  was  leaning  against  the  rock,  and 
her  face,  I  could  see  by  the  lantern-light,  was  hard 
and  white  and  set.  As  she  saw  us  she  straightened 
and  looked  in  some  surprise  at  the  party  as,  one  by 
one,  it  filed  through  the  break  in  the  rock. 

"  What  do  you  here  ? n  she  asked  at  last,  in  her  curi 
ous  foreign  accent. 

For  an  instant  no  one  answered  her.  Then  Bailey 
spoke. 

"  We  were  about  to  ask  that  question  of  you,"  he 
said  gently.  "  This  is  no  place  for  a  woman,  alone, 
and  at  night.  Is  there  anything  wrong— can  we  help 
you  ?  Why  are  you  here  ? " 

"  No ;  there  is  nothing.  He  is  here,  that  is  why,'7 
she  returned  wearily,  leaning  once  more  against  the 
stone. 

"  Who  is  here  ? "  I  inquired  stupidly. 

"  Is  it  the  oP  man  with  the  long  white  beard— him 
what  we  saw?"  asked  Liver,  squeezing  his  way  for 
ward. 

"  Yes— my  father,"  answered  the  woman  at  once. 
"He  escaped  from  me  three  days  ago  when  the 
wind  blew.  He  thought  he  did  control  that  wind,  and 
that  it  was  his  friend.  Other  times  he  would  be  quiet 
— quiet  like  a  little  child.  Only  when  some  one  did 
speak,  then  out  of  their  mouths  he  would  take  the 

258 


The  Wind  Wraith 

words.  But  he  never  was  bad— lie  hurt  no  one.  But 
when  the  wind  it  did  begin,  then  he  would  get  lonely. 
Then  he  wanted  to  see  some  of  his  kind— men.  He 
wished  to  tell  them  that  the  wind  was  his  creature ; 
that  he  could  cause  it  to  blow  in  the  way  he  wanted 
it  to,  or  he  could  stop  it.  He  wished  to  say  that  if 
they  would  tell  him  the  way  in  which  they  would  have 
it  behave,  he  would  so  order  it.  But  the  men  they 
would  fear.  They  would  not  speak  to  him,  and  some 
times  they  would  shoot.  Then  would  he  become 
angered  and  at  the  same  time  affrighted.  He  would 
fly,  and  no  one  could  overtake  him.  I  feared  that  he 
would  come  to  harm,  and  for  three  days  I  have  pur 
sued,  but  overtake  him  I  could  not.  I  traced  him  this 
way,  and  now  I  find  him— here." 

"  I  saw  your  father  as  the  rock  fell,"  I  said  consol 
ingly.  "  He  may  not  be  under  here  j  I  doubt  if  he  is. 
Judging  from  where  he  stood,  he  was  probably  thrown 
clear." 

At  this  suggestion,  some  of  the  men  who  carried 
lanterns  scattered  over  the  flat  in  search  of  the  body. 
The  woman  shook  her  head,  and  stooping,  picked  up 
from  the  ground  at  her  feet  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
staff. 

"  This  was  his,"  she  said. 

An  awkward  pause  followed,  which  was  finally 
broken  by  the  woman. 

"  Will  he  be  disturbed— that  is— this  rock,  will  it  be 
moved  ? "  she  asked. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "We  could  hardly  move  it  if 
we  wanted  to.  There  are  hundreds  of  tons  of  rock. 

259 


Sand  and  Cactus 

It  will  be  submerged  in  the  reservoir  when  the  dam 
is  built.  It  will  lie  there  forever,  probably." 

"  That  is  well,"  replied  the  woman.  "  Here,  at  least, 
he  can  be  at  rest.  No  one  will  persecute  him  now. 
He  would  have  wished  it  so.  They  would  have  taken 
him  from  me  and  would  have  confined  him ;  therefore 
I  fled  from  them  and  brought  him  here,  and  did  try  to 
earn  the  bread  for  us  both.  That  is  why  your  store 
was  burned— it  would  have  taken  from  our  mouths 
the  bread,  his  and  mine.  And  this  is  a  consequent 
judgment  on  my  head.  Now  my  work  has  been  taken 
from  me,  and  I  will  go  back— I  will  go.  I  have  no 
wish  to  stay." 

She  leaned  for  a  moment  against  the  rock.  Her 
arms  were  resting  against  the  stone,  and  her  face  was 
hidden  by  them.  Then,  without  turning,  she  raised 
her  head. 

"  Will  you  be  kind  and  leave  me  here  ? "  she  said. 
"  I  ask  of  you  nothing  else,  and  I  will  trouble  you  no 
more.  You  will  never  see  me  again.  Only  leave  me 
here,  a  while,  by  myself." 

The  men  dispersed  silently.  Climbing  up  the  steep 
path  that  led  to  the  mesa,  I  dragged  what  was  left  of 
my  bed  out  on  to  the  ruined  veranda,  and  lying  down 
without  undressing,  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep.  How 
long  I  slept  I  have  no  idea,  but  it  was  still  night  when 
I  awoke  to  find  Liver  standing  by  my  bedside. 

"  She's  gone,"  he  cried  excitedly,  as  he  saw  that  I 
was  awake.  "  I  was  a-watehin'  all  the  time.  I  didn't 
hear  a  thing,  an'  I  didn't  see  nothin',  neither,  an'  when 
the  shadder  of  the  cliff  went  back,  I  found  she'd  gone. 

260 


The  Wind  Wraith 

An'  there's  sun  thin'  else  lyin*  there,  too— I  can  jus' 
see  a  black  spot.  I  didn'  dare  go  down  there  alone. 
There's  sunthin'  dead  queer." 

Aroused  by  Liver's  voice,  some  of  the  men  who  had 
been  sleeping  near  me  began  to  shake  themselves  clear 
of  their  blankets  and  stumble  to  their  feet.  Lanterns 
were  soon  lighted,  and  once  more  the  party  trailed 
down  the  pass  to  the  river- flat. 

Sure  enough,  as  Liver  had  said,  the  woman  was 
gone.  Her  footprints  were  plain  in  the  sand  where 
she  had  been  standing  by  the  fallen  rock,  and  a  trail 
led  away  from  this  spot. 

"  That's  to'rds  the  place  where  I  see  that  thing- 
whatever  it  was— on  the  sand  jus'  now,"  said  Liver, 
in  an  awed  whisper,  pointing  down  the  line  of  the 
footprints.  Taking  a  lantern  from  the  hand  of  a 
man  who  held  one,  Liver  led  the  way,  and  we  all  fol 
lowed. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  said,  a  minute  later.  Running 
forward,  he  held  down  the  lantern.  "  It's  that  ther7 
buggy  of  hers,"  he  said,  "  an'  the  mule,  too.  An'  the 
mule's  dead." 

We  had  already  seen  that  much.  The  animal  was 
lying  on  the  broken  shaft  of  the  vehicle  he  had  drawn, 
and  as  we  examined  the  body,  we  saw  that  a  thin 
stream  of  blood  had  been  flowing  from  the  mouth. 

"Driven  to  a  drop,"  whispered  one  of  the  men; 
but  another  shook  his  head  and  put  his  finger  on  a 
smooth  hole  between  the  eyes.  He  said  nothing.  No 
one  spoke  except  when  it  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  then  in  whispers. 

261 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Liver,  who  had  been  coursing  around  as  a  hound 
circles  to  regain  a  lost  scent,  picked  up  the  trail  again, 
and  again  we  followed  it.  The  dawn  was  breaking 
now,  its  gray  light  making  the  flames  of  the  lantern- 
wicks  more  sickly  and  yellow  than  before  j  yet  in  spite 
of  the  daylight,  which  grew  stronger  every  minute, 
the  trail  was  very  hard  to  follow.  The  light,  clayey 
sand,  swept  by  the  breeze  which  came  with  the  dawn, 
made  the  footprints  fainter  and  more  confused.  Our 
progress  became  slower  and  slower.  One  man  after 
another  tried  to  follow,  and,  experienced  as  they  all 
were,  each  one  failed  in  his  turn. 

"I  guess  this  settles  it,"  said  one,  at  last.  " There 
just  ain't  no  trail  to  f oiler,  now."  Then  he  turned  to 
Liver.  "  She  said  you  wouldn't  never  see  her  again, 
didn't  she,  kid  ? "  he  asked. 

Liver  nodded.  "  An'  I  reckon  we  never  will,"  he 
said,  "  ner  hear  that  ther*  voice  again,  neither." 

And  we  never  did. 


262 


THE  SALTING  OF   THE   TIO  JUAN 


THE  SALTING  OF  THE  TIO   JUAN 


BOOT  LEG  was  approximately  quiet,  for  it  was  a 
little  after  noon,  and  most  of  Boot  Leg  was  at 
dinner. 

Old  Mrs.  Elkins  sat  at  her  table,  but  she  was  not 
eating.  Tom,  her  nephew,  noted  this  fact,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  would  suspend  his  own  energetic 
attack  upon  the  food  long  enough  to  glance  uneasily  at 
his  aunt.  Her  conduct  was  unusual,  and  it  troubled 
him.  It  was  not  her  lack  of  appetite  that  troubled 
Tom  so  much  as  her  abstraction.  Ordinarily  she  was 
interested  in  everything;  now,  each  remark  offered 
by  Tom  was  half  heard,  and  answered  in  monosyl 
lables,  frequently  irrelevant  ones,  and  she  kept  her 
head  turned  toward  a  window  in  such  a  manner  that 
Tom  could  not  see  her  face. 

There  was  no  apparent  reason  why  she  should  wish 
to  look  out  of  the  window.  To  be  sure,  the  cottage 
was  built  on  the  only  eminence  in  Boot  Leg,  and  the 
view,  therefore,  was  an  extended  one,  but  it  was  not 
in  the  least  attractive.  The  wrinkled,  gravelly  plain 
265 


Sand  and  Cactus 

was  as  dry  as  dust.  So  were  the  bare,  earthy  moun 
tains  that  bounded  it  on  three  sides.  Boot  Leg, 
sprawling  on  the  bank  of  the  sluggish  little  river  that 
contained  all  the  water  in  sight,  was  composed  largely 
of  adobe  houses,  and  they,  too,  were  bare  and  dry  and 
earthy.  Judging  from  the  fact  that  while  Boot  Leg 
supported  but  two  stores,  yet  seventeen  saloons  of 
one  kind  and  another  nourished  there,  one  would 
think  that  the  inhabitants  of  Boot  Leg  might  be  as 
dry  as  the  mountains  and  the  plain  and  the  town. 
And  so  they  were. 

"  Ther's  a  new  tenderfoot  in  town,"  said  Tom,  finally, 
in  a  last  desperate  attempt  to  interest  his  aunt. 
"He's  the  derndest  tenderfoot  you  ever  see.  He's 
got  pants  on  that's  short  an'  buttoned  roun'  his  legs, 
an'  he  wears  his  stockin's— the  stockin's  has  got 
razzle-dazzle  stripes  all  over  'em — he  wears  them 
stockin's  pulled  up  over  his  pants.  The  boys  is  all 
laughin'  at  him." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  Tom  smiled ;  but  the  smile 
was  forced,  and  betrayed  the  anxiety  that  lay  beneath 
it.  To  his  great  surprise,  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  was  inter 
ested  at  once. 

"  You  don'  mean  that  theah  big  one,  do  yuh  ? "  she 
cried.  "The  one— well— that  theah  one  with  the 
yellah  haiah?"  In  her  eagerness  Old  Mrs.  Elkins's 
voice,  in  spite  of  its  soft  Southwestern  drawl,  became 
almost  sharp. 

"  Yes,  he's  big/7  replied  her  nephew.  "  Big  as  me— 
bigger,  maybe.  His  hair's  sure  kinder  light,  too.  He 
wouldn't  be  none  so  slow  fer  a  man  if  he  didn'  have 

266 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

them  fool  clo'es  on.  Don'  see  what  a  man  wants  ter 
dress  himself  up  like  a  monkey  for,  the  way  he  does." 

"  He  don't  look  no  moah  like  a  monkey 'n  you  do," 
said  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  indignantly.  "Not  so  much. 
He  hasn't  got  a  brown  hide  like  you.  I  don'  see 
what  yuh  wantah  run  down  a  puhson  foh,  jus'  because 
he  happens  to  be  bettah-lookin'  than  you." 

Tom  looked  at  his  aunt  in  blank  astonishment. 
Never  before  had  he  heard  her  speak  in  this  way.  He 
regarded  it  as  another  proof  that  her  health  was 
failing. 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  anxiously,  after  a  moment's 
pause  5  "  I'm  a-go'n'  ter  get  that  ther'  doctor  f'om  Gila 
Bend  ter  come  over  an'  have  a  look  at  you.  Ther's 
sunthin'  slipped  a  cog.  I  seen  it  yes'day.  I'm  a-go'n'  ter 
wire  fer  that  ther7  doctor."  Tom  half  rose  from  his 
chair  as  he  spoke. 

"Set  down,"  said  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  imperiously. 
"  Now  tell  me.  Did  you  see  that  theah  tendahfoot 
tah  speak  to  ? " 

"  No,  not  partic'lar.  Asked  him  ter  have  a  drink, 
an'  he  said  he  wasn't  drinkin'.  That's  all,"  replied 
Tom,  reseating  himself  according  to  the  instructions 
of  his  aunt  and  his  lifelong  habit  of  obedience  to  her. 
"  A  lot  er  the  boys  was  kinder  givin'  him  the  laugh," 
he  added. 

"What'dhedo?" 

"Didn't  do  nothin'.     Didn'  say  a  word.     Looked 

kinder  mad,  though,  long  'bout  the  las'.     You  see, 

some  er  the  boys  was  a-gettin'  kinder  owly,  an'  was 

what  you  might  call  personal.     Shouldn't  wonder  if 

267 


Sand  and  Cactus 

that  ther'  tenderfoot  didn'  get  hot  under  the  collar  an' 
go  fer  some  one  bimeby.  Then  ther'll  be  trouble  fer 
the  tenderfoot,  mos'  like." 

"  Theah'll  be  trouble  foh  the  man  that  runs  'gains' 
him.  I'll  see  tuh  that  myself.  Have  yuh  got  th'ough 
eatin'  ?  "  Tom  replied  in  the  affirmative.  "  Then  you 
go— wheah  was  that  tendahfoot  ?  Hotel?  Well,  then 
you  go  down  tuh  the  hotel  an7  see  that  theah  ain't  no 
trouble.  You  get  tuh  know  that  theah  tendahfoot, 
an'  bring  him  back  heah  as  soon's  you  can,  an'  make 
him  stay  tuh  suppah.  Now  go,  Tawm,  I  know  what 
I  want  all  right,  an'  it  ain't  no  doctah." 

Tom  departed,  wondering  greatly.  What  his  aunt 
wanted  with  this  tenderfoot  more  than  with  any  one 
of  the  others  who  now  and  then  passed  through  the 
town,  he  could  not  imagine.  Still,  she  did  want  him, 
and  therefore  he  must  come.  The  idea  that  the  young 
man  himself  might  decline  the  invitation  never  crossed 
Tom's  mind.  He  was  not  alone  in  his  habit  of  obedi 
ence  to  Old  Mrs.  Elkins.  The  whole  town  shared  it. 
She  was  the  one  woman  to  whom  Boot  Leg,  mas 
culine  almost  to  a  unit,  could  point  with  pride. 

Every  one  called  her  "  OP  Mis'  Elkins,"  and  truly 
she  looked  older  than  many  women  do  at  seventy, 
though  her  age,  she  said,  was  but  fifty-four,  and  Old 
Mrs.  Elkins  was  not  one  to  lie  about  her  age  or  about 
anything  else.  Little,  stooped,  and  shrunken,  dressed 
always  in  neat  calico,  her  white  hair  strained  back 
from  her  gentle  face,  she  did  not  seem  at  all  like  a 
heroine  of  the  tales  of  famine  and  drought  and  blood 
shed  that  had  become  traditions  in  Boot  Leg. 

268 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

She  had  been  born  and  bred  on  the  frontier ;  nearly 
all  her  life  had  been  spent  far  from  even  the  smallest 
settlement,  in  the  desert  country  of  the  Southwest. 
Boot  Leg,  to  her,  was  a  centre  of  civilization,  yet 
even  now  a  small  lump  that  always  appeared  on  the 
bosom  of  Old  Mrs.  Elkins's  calico  gown  was  generally 
known  to  be  caused  by  a  weapon  that  rested  there,  a 
weapon  that  she  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  leav 
ing  off  as  she  would  the  gown  itself,  and  which  no 
man  could  use  with  more  quickness  and  accuracy. 

When  Boot  Leg  pointed  with  pride  to  Old  Mrs. 
Elkins,  it  did  so  from  a  distance.  She  did  not  en 
courage  familiarity,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  never, 
until  now,  asked  any  man  into  her  house  made  the 
present  invitation  more  remarkable.  Furthermore, 
Tom  did  not  know  how  to  deliver  it.  He  was  not 
acquainted  with  this  young  man,  and  it  is  difficult 
for  a  diffident  person— and  Tom  was  diffident— to 
deliver  an  invitation  of  this  kind  to  a  stranger.  For 
some  time  Tom  strolled  aimlessly  about,  bringing  up 
at  last  at  the  primitive  little  building  that  called  itself 
a  hotel  with  a  resolution  to  speak  to  the  stranger  and 
have  it  over  with. 

The  bar-room  was  crowded,  as  at  this  time  of  day 
it  always  was.  In  the  evening  the  gambling-saloons 
and  dance-halls  took  the  people  elsewhere.  On  the 
veranda  sat  the  tenderfoot,  pretending  not  to  hear 
the  comments  on  his  appearance  made  by  the  men  in 
the  bar-room.  There  was  no  one  with  him.  Rather 
at  a  loss  how  to  open  a  conversation,  Tom  seated  him 
self  by  the  stranger's  side.  For  a  moment  or  two  he 
269 


Sand  and  Cactus 

shifted  uneasily ;  then,  to  cover  his  embarrassment,  he 
pulled  from  his  pocket  a  pipe  and  tobacco-bag.  The 
bag  proved  to  be  empty. 

"  Try  mine,"  said  the  young  man  by  his  side,  hand 
ing  over  a  pouch. 

Tom  filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it,  and  took  a  couple  of 
puffs,  then,  nodding  thanks,  returned  the  pouch. 

"  That  there's  good  tobaccer,"  said  he. 

"  Glad  you  like  it,"  returned  the  other. 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  Tom 
smoked  vigorously,  and  looked  at  his  companion  out 
of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

"  Didn'  come  Pom  roun'  here  now'er's  I "  hazarded 
Tom,  at  length. 

11  No,"  replied  the  tenderfoot. 

Another  pause,  in  which,  as  before,  Tom  observed 
the  other  man  keenly. 

The  remarks  from  the  saloon  were  becoming  more 
and  more  offensive.  Tom  looked  at  his  companion 
in  a  gentle  amazement  that  he  would  allow  them  to 
pass  unnoticed.  Then  he  got  mildly  indignant  on 
behalf  of  this  stranger. 

"  Ther's  some  fools  in  there  what  want  lickin',"  said 
he,  after  a  while. 

"  They'll  get  it  in  about  five  minutes  more,"  answered 
the  young  fellow,  more  quickly  than  he  had  yet 
spoken.  "I  don't  want  any  trouble,  and  I  haven't 
said  anything,  but  I'm  getting  pretty  sick  of  it  now." 

"  I'd  'a'  got  sick  some  time  back,"  rejoined  Tom,  sym 
pathetically.    "  Can  you  shoot  ? "  As  he  spoke  he  made 
a  motion  as  though  drawing  and  firing  a  pistol. 
270 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

The  young  fellow  shook  his  head.  "Not  to  speak 
of,"  said  he. 

"  Some  er  them  fellers  can,"  said  Tom,  "  an'  ther's 
some  er  them  what  wouldn't  min'  shootin'  a  man  like 
you  what  wasn't  heeled,  neither.  Course  I  could  kill 
him  afterward,"  he  added  reflectively,  "but  that 
wouldn'  do  much  good.  Reckon  I  c'n  fix  it,  though. 
Look  here !  You  willin'  ter  lick  two  er  three  er 
them  fellers?" 

"  Be  most  happy,"  said  the  tenderfoot,  rising  from 
his  seat.  Tom  also  rose,  and,  followed  by  the  other, 
made  two  or  three  quick  steps  toward  the  bar-room 
door,  but  before  he  reached  it  he  suddenly  stopped 
and  faced  around. 

" Look  here,"  said  he ;  "I  don'  know  whether  I 
oughter  do  this  thing  er  not.  I  got  ter  take  you  home 
'ith  me  feat  supper.  My  aunt,  01'  Mis'  Elkins,  she 
tol'  me  ter  bring  yer,  an'  if  I  got  you  damaged  I  don' 
know  what  she'd  say.  But  maybe  you'd  better  go 
through  with  it,  now  you  started.  Come  on." 

Entering  the  room,  the  two  men  strolled  toward  the 
bar.  Tom  asked  the  tenderfoot  his  name. 

"Joyce— Robert  Joyce,"  said  he. 

"  Mine's  Tom  Caruthers,"  said  Tom.  He  leaned  his 
back  against  the  bar  and  looked  around  the  room. 
All  eyes  were  on  him  and  his  companion. 

"  Look  here,  gentlemen,  if  you'll  allow  me  ter  use 
that  ther'  expression,"  said  he,  addressing  the  crowd. 
"  This  yere  young  feller  is  Mr.  Bob  Joyce,  what  has 
jus'  struck  the  town.  He's  heard  some  er  you  a-talkin' 
in  a  way  that's  kinder  personal  'bout  them  there  socks 
271 


Sand  and  Cactus 

what  lie's  got  on.  Now  he  allows  that  it  ain't  none 
er  your  business  what  kinder  socks  he  wears,  an'  if 
anybody  thinks  he'd  like  ter  make  it  his  business,  all 
he's  got  ter  do  is  ter  step  right  up  an'  interview  Mr. 
Bob  Joyce  on  the  subject."  He  paused,  and  again  he 
looked  around  the  room.  No  one  spoke. 

•  "  Come,"  Tom  went  on,  "  we  can't  wait  here  all 
night  jus'  fer  your  convenience.  Step  lively  an'  come 
along,  one  at  a  time.  Now's  the  time  ter  subscribe. 
Nobody  comin'  ?  Where's  yer  sportin'  blood  ?  Here's 
fifty  dollars,  all  or  any  part  of  it,  on  Mr.  Bob  Joyce 
'gainst  any  man  here;  at  evens;  guns  an'  knives 
barred."  He  paused  again,  and  then  went  on :  "  Five 
ter  four,  then.  No  takers  ?  Five  ter  three.  Nobody 
yet?  Two  ter  one.  Now,  then,  that's  my  las'  offer. 
You  fellers  is  a  kinder  jack-rabbity  crowd.  So  long 
—we  can't  wait  no  longer.  Only  don't  say  you  ain't 
had  a  fair  chance  fer  a  firs'-class  lickin',  that's  all." 

As  he  finished  speaking  he  motioned  Joyce  to  pre 
cede  him,  and  then  backed  out  of  the  door.  Once  out 
side  he  hurried  his  companion  down  the  road  and 
around  the  corner  of  an  adobe  building. 

"Now  we  know  where  we're  at,"  said  he.  "It 
wasn'  noway  likely  that  none  er  them  fellers  would 
do  anything  but  you  can't  never  tell.  Ther's  some 
that'd  like  ter.  They'll  all  be  dead  sore  on  you  now, 
after  that  bluff  I  chucked.  You  wanter  look  out  fer 
that  ther'  crowd." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  they'll  shoot  me  in  the  back  ?  " 
asked  Joyce,  uneasily. 

"  No,  maybe  not.     Likely  they'll  try  'n'  get  you  inter 
272 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

an  argerment,  though,  an7  then  let  that  kinder  make 
an  openin'.  Have  ter  keep  yer  gun  handy,  that's 
all." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  gun,"  said  the  younger  man, 
rather  concerned  at  the  prospect  before  him. 

Tom,  however,  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  he,  in  a  soothing  tone,  "you  c'n 
get  one  ter-morrer.  Here  we  are  at  the  house. 
That's  her,  stan'in'  in  the  door,  there." 

In  the  excitement  of  the  affair  at  the  hotel,  the 
invitation  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  accept  had 
entirely  slipped  Joyce's  mind.  Now  he  recollected  it 
with  impatience.  He  was  too  anxious  about  himself 
to  relish  the  idea  of  taking  tea  with  an  unknown  old 
woman.  Still,  at  the  sight  of  the  little  figure  smiling, 
almost  bashfully,  in  the  doorway,  Joyce  smiled  back 
again,  and  pulled  off  his  cap. 

"  She's  taken  a  shine  ter  you,  somehow'r  another," 
said  Tom,  in  a  whisper.  "  Never  knowed  her  ter  do 
that  with  no  one  before,  but  it's  mighty  lucky  f er  you 
she  has.  There  ain't  many  women  like  her  roun' 
here,  you  bet— ner  now'er's  else." 

There  was  an  awkward  moment  as  the  three  en 
tered  the  bare  little  room  that  seemed  to  be  at  once 
kitchen  and  living-  and  dining-room,  and  into  which 
the  front  door  opened.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  stood  smil 
ing  at  her  visitor,  and  gazing  at  him  intently,  yet 
with  an  air  of  feeble  deprecation  that  was  quite  new 
to  her— at  least,  Tom  never  before  had  seen  this 
manner  in  his  imperious  little  aunt.  No  one  knew 

273 


Sand  and  Cactus 

exactly  what  to  say,  and  there  was  a  pause  for  a 
moment,  which  was  broken  by  Joyce. 

"  It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  ask  me  up  here  in 
this  way/7  said  he.  "  One  doesn't  look  for  that  kind 
of  thing  from  strangers  anywhere,  far  less  in  a  place 
like  this*  Your  nephew  gave  me  no  time  to  change  my 
clothes,  so  I  hope  you'll  pardon  them.  Won't  you  ? " 

Joyce  was  talking  simply  in  order  to  relieve  the 
awkwardness  of  the  situation,  but  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  en 
tirely  misunderstood  the  last  part  of  his  speech.  She 
knew  that  the  clothes  he  was  wearing  had  exposed  him 
to  ridicule,  and  thought  that  he  had  become  sensitive 
about  them.  She  glanced  at  the  golf-stockings,  and 
then  defiantly  at  her  nephew,  before  she  spoke. 

"I  think  theah  mighty  pretty,"  said  she.  Tom 
grinned,  and  was  rewarded  with  a  look  of  severe 
reproof  from  his  aunt.  "Tawm,  theah,  is  a  good 
boy,"  she  went  on  apologetically,  "but  theah's  a  lot 
ah  things  what  he  oughtah  know  about  that  he  don't. 
Mannahs  is  one." 

Tom,  snubbed  into  silence  for  the  time  being,  re 
tired,  while  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  bustled  nervously  about 
the  room,  making  unnecessary  changes  in  its  meagre 
arrangements. 

Whenever  she  thought  she  was  unobserved,  Joyce 
could  see  that  his  hostess  was  looking  at  him  intently. 
Sometimes  she  found  that  she  had  been  discovered  in 
this  act,  and  then  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  such 
pitiable  confusion  that  after  one  or  two  occasions  of 
the  kind  Joyce  refrained  from  looking  at  her.  But 
he  knew  that  her  eyes  were  constantly  upon  him,  and 

274 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

the  knowledge  made  him  uncomfortable.  He  tried 
to  draw  her  into  conversation,  at  first  with  indifferent 
success ;  but  after  a  while  she  began  asking  questions. 
Most  searching  questions  they  were.  Joyce  astonished 
himself  by  the  readiness  with  which  he  answered  them. 

Ordinarily,  Joyce  objected  strongly  to  the  examina 
tions  through  which  every  chance  acquaintance,  since 
he  had  come  West,  had  tried  to  put  him.  The  ques 
tions  of  Mrs.  Elkins,  however,  did  not  offend  him  in 
the  least.  Perhaps  the  apologetic  manner  in  which 
they  were  made  was  accountable  for  this  singular  fact ; 
probably  their  being  so  evidently  prompted  by  a  real 
interest  instead  of  vulgar  curiosity  had  still  more  to 
do  with  it.  At  all  events,  he  answered  her  as  he 
would  have  answered  an  elderly  relative  ;  told  her  all 
about  himself  and  his  home,  and  his  reasons  for  leav 
ing  it.  He  had  a  little  money,  it  seemed,  and  would 
have  more.  In  the  meantime, he  had  come  West  "to 
see  what  there  was  in  the  country,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  and  to  make  money,  if  he  could,  in  some  one  of  the 
many  profitable  enterprises  that  were,  as  he  thought, 
constantly  offering  themselves. 

"  I  don'  know  what  theah  is  roun'  heah,"  said  Old 
Mrs.  Elkins,  thoughtfully,  as  Joyce  told  her  this. 
"  Gamblin'  needs  experience,  even  if  you  run  a  squaiah 
game,  an'  theah's  too  many  saloons  heah  now.  It'd 
be  a  business  too  rough  foh  you,  anyhow.  Theah's 
nothin'  lef  but  minin',  7s  I  c'n  see.  We  c'n  talk  that 
ovah.  Suppah's  ready  now ;  will  you  come  ? " 

Tom,  who  was  lounging  on  the  veranda,  came  in 
at  his  aunt's  call.  As  they  seated  themselves  Joyce 

275 


Sand  and  Cactus 

hastened  to  assure  his  hostess  that  he  had  no  thought 
of  pursuing  as  a  profession  either  saloon-keeping  or 
gambling.  Mining  he  had  not  only  thought  of  going 
into,  but  had  actually  gone.  Only  the  day  before— 
the  day  of  his  coming  to  Boot  Leg— he  had  bought  a 
mine,  and  now  intended  working  it. 

"  Now  that  theah's  too  bad  !  "  cried  Old  Mrs.  Elkins, 
in  unexpected  dismay,  laying  down  her  knife  and 
fork. 

Tom  swore  a  little  in  an  undertone,  and  then  asked : 
"  Which  one  er  them  fellers  was  it  that  yer  bought 
from  ?  I  thought  mos'  all  er  them  what  had  holes  ter 
sell  was  in  that  ther'  crowd  we  saw  down  ter  the  hotel 
awhile  back.  You  sure  wasn't  so  frien'ly  with  any  er 
them  that  they  could  work  yer  like  that." 

"  The  man  that  sold  it  to  me  was  in  that  crowd," 
admitted  Joyce.  "  The  crowd  wasn't  uncivil  then, 
though.  That  all  came  afterward.  He  came  to  me 
last  night  and  told  me  about  this  mine  he  had  to  sell. 
Said  it  was  a  good  mine,  and  that  he  wouldn't  part 
with  it  except  that  he  was  too  ill  to  work  it  himself, 
and  wanted  to  get  it  off  his  hands  as  quickly  as  he 
could,  and  then  go  back  where  he  came  from.  Said 
the  climate  here  didn't  agree  with  him—" 

"  Don'  know  where  'twas  he  come  f  om,  but  I  know 
mighty  well  where  he'll  go  to,"  interrupted  Tom. 
"  An'  the  climate  won't  suit  him,  neither.  Didn't  yer 
see  he  was  lyin'?  Men  don't  sell  payin'  mines  like 
thet." 

"That's  what  I  thought  at  first,  but  he  took  me 
down  to  this  mine  of  his,— it  was  bright  moonlight, 
276 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

and  he'd  brought  a  lantern  besides,— and  he  washed 
out  a  panful  and  showed  me  the  results.  Then  he 
told  me  to  dig  out  some  and  wash  it,  and  I  did.  The 
pans  showed  up  handsomely— very.  I  don't  see  but 
what  I've  got  a  pretty  good  thing." 

Joyce  looked  at  his  two  auditors  with  a  mild 
triumph,  but  to  his  surprise  they  both  seemed  to 
regard  his  purchase  in  the  light  of  a  calamity. 

"  Which  one  of  'em  was  it  what  sol'  this  heah  mine  ? n 
Old  Mrs.  Elkins  asked.  "  He's  right  'bout  the  climate. 
It  won't  agree  with  him.  I'll  see  tuh  that.'7 

"I  don't  remember  the  man's  name— it's  on  the 
papers,"  said  Joyce ;  "  and  the  name  of  the  mine  is  on 
the  papers,  too.  The  man  that  sold  it  to  me  said 
that  it  meant  '  Uncle  John '  in  English.  Oh,  yes ;  the 
man's  name  is  Riley  j  I  remember,  now." 

"  Tio  Juan,  is  it  ?  I  don't  seem  ter  remember  no 
such  mine.  What  Riley  was  it?  Ther's  two  of  'em 
in  town.  One  of  'em  is  Irish,  and  the  other  has  erbout 
half  his  face  'twixt  his  nose  and  his  mouth,  an'  he  talks 
kinder  funny ;  says  l  nowt '  when  he  means  i  nothin'.' " 

"  That's  the  one,"  said  Joyce,  looking  around  him 
somewhat  uneasily.  "  What's  the  matter  with  him  ? 
Isn't  the  mine  all  right  ?  n 

"Lippy  Riley,"  said  Tom,  not  answering  Joyce's 
question,  but  looking,  as  he  spoke,  at  his  aunt.  She 
nodded,  her  face  full  of  concern. 

"  Isn't  the  mine  all  right  ? "  asked  Joyce  again,  his 
anxiety  growing.  "  The  ground  that  I  dug  and  that 
I  washed  the  gold  out  of  hadn't  ever  been  touched ; 
I  can  swear  to  that." 

277 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  No ;  it  hadn't  never  been  touched,  prob'ly  j  not  to 
be  dug  up,  that  is ;  but  it's  been  salted,  jus'  the  same,  if 
Lippy  Riley  so?  it.  I  see  him  myself  loadin'  up  shot 
gun  ca'tridges  with  gol'-dus',  not  more'n  two  er  three 
days  ago.  Had  more'n  a  hundred  of  'em;  but  he 
always  keeps  a  lot  on  han',  so's  it  ain't  noway  likely 
that  he  used  up  all  of  'em  on  that  ther'  claim  er  yours. 
Is  this  yere  hole  in  the  groun'  jus'  down  here  a  ways  by 
the  river,  so's  you  have  ter  go  by  the  hotel  ter  get  to 
it  f '  om  here  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Joyce.  "  But  what  do  you  mean 
about  the  cartridges  f  I  don't  understand." 

"He  put  this  heah  gol'-dus'  intah  a  gun,  an'  then 
shot  it  intah  the  groun'  so  you  could  dig  it  out  again, 
an'  the  groun'  itself  wouldn't  look  as  though  no  man 
had  evah  been  theah  befoah,"  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  ex 
plained  pityingly.  "He  mus'  give  the  money  back. 
You  see  him,  Tawm,  will  yoh  ? " 

"  Sure  I'll  see  him,"  assented  Tom,  readily.  "  Don' 
see  what  good  that's  a-go'n'  ter  be  ter  Bob, here,  though, 
'thout  it's  the  satisfaction." 

"I  don'  want  yoh  tah  shoot  the  man— not  until 
aftah  we  get  this  money  back,  anyhow,"  said  Mrs. 
Elkins,  sharply.  "  D'yuh  think  every  time  I  tell  yuh 
tah  see  a  man  I  want  yuh  tah  shoot  him  ?  Make  him 
give  the  money  back  •  that's  what  he  mus'  do." 

"All  right,"  said  Tom.  "Don'  see  how  yer  a- 
go'n'  ter  work  it,  though." 

Old  Mrs.  Elkins  leaned  over  the  table  and  began 
talking  in  a  low  tone  to  her  nephew.  There  was  no 
intention  of  keeping  the  conversation  from  Joyce's 

278 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

ears,  yet  he  heard  nothing.  What  they  had  told  him 
of  this  mine  was  a  great  blow.  For  some  reason,  he 
could  not  help  believing  these  people.  He  vainly 
tried  to  think  that  they  were  acting  from  some  ulterior 
motive.  As  to  their  getting  his  money  back  from 
Riley,  he  had  no  confidence  in  that.  The  sooner  he 
made  his  mind  up  to  the  loss,  the  better.  In  public 
he  would  try  to  maintain  the  appearance  of  being  a 
good  loser,  but  in  the  meantime  he  was  distinctly 
blue,  the  more  so  because  these  fits  of  despondency 
were  almost  unknown  to  him.  He  was  aroused  from 
his  study  by  Tom's  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  got  ter  go  down,  now,  an'  go  ter  work,"  said  he. 
"  Maybe  you  better  walk  along  with  me,  seein'  how 
you  ain't  got  no  gun.  Ill  have  ter  go  right  by  that 
ther'  hotel.  Ther'll  be  two  of  us  then,  an'  I  reckon 
ther'  won't  be  no  trouble." 

Joyce  rose  and  started  to  bid  his  hostess  good  night. 
Tom  threw  on  his  hat  and  strolled  out  of  the  door. 
Joyce  was  following  him,  but  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  seemed 
very  reluctant  to  let  him  go.  She  retained  his  hand, 
as  he  offered  it,  so  that  he  could  not  draw  it  away 
without  using  a  degree  of  force. 

"Maybe  I  seem  kinder— kinder  familious,  like,  in 
this  heah  way  I  been  a-talkin'  t'  yoh,"  said  she,  apolo 
getically.  "  But  yoh  won'  min',  will  yoh  ?  Yoh  see, 
I'm  an  ol'  woman,  an'  no  one  don'  min'  what  I  do." 

Joyce  began  eagerly  to  disclaim  any  idea  of  taking 
offence,  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"  We'll  get  that  theah  money  back  foh  you,  Tawm 
an;  I  will.  You'll  agree  tuh  let  Tawm  try,  won't 

279 


Sand  and  Cactus 

yoh?  Yoh  see,"  she  went  on,  after  hesitating  for  a 
moment,  "  I  had  a  boy  once.  He'd  'a'  been  'bout  youah 
age  now,  if  he'd  lived.  I  think  he'd  'a'  looked  sunthin' 
like  you.  I  got  his  picture  heah.  Would— maybe— 
wouldn't  yoh  like  tah  see  it  ? " 

Joyce  smiled  and  nodded.  The  old  woman  beamed 
on  him  for  an  instant,  then  turned  to  a  table  that 
stood  near,  and  from  between  the  leaves  of  a  gaudily 
bound  book  that  lay  upon  it  she  produced  a  tintype. 
It  was  a  very  old  tintype.  The  pink  paper  that  in 
cased  it  had  faded  until  it  was  nearly  white,  and  on 
the  edges  it  was  worn  through.  She  carefully  folded 
back  the  cover,  and  then  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the 
picture  before  handing  it  to  Joyce. 

"It  suah  has  got  youah  look  in  it— it  suhtainly 
has,"  said  she. 

Joyce  examined  the  picture  carefully.  In  spite  of 
the  artificial  complexion  by  means  of  which  the 
photographer  had  endeavored  to  enhance  its  beauty, 
it  did  cruel  violence  to  Joyce's  vanity.  His  first  feel 
ing  was  one  of  profound  disgust  that  he  could  be 
thought  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  resemble 
the  face  that  stared  at  him  from  that  picture. 

"Don'  yoh  think  it  looks  like  yoh— can't  yoh  see 
how  it  does?"  asked  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  wistfully. 
"  Roun'  the  eyes,  theah,  an'  the  chin." 

Joyce  glanced  at  the  withered  face  that  was  look 
ing  into  his,  eagerly  awaiting  his  reply,  and  then  lied 
nobly. 

"Yes,  there  is  a  resemblance,"  said  he,  "a  very 
strong  resemblance— striking." 

280 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

The  old  woman  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  laid  the 
picture  carefully  in  her  work-hardened  palm.  She 
turned  to  replace  it  in  the  book,  and  as  she  did  so 
Tom  reappeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Look-a  yere,"  he  cried  good-naturedly.  "  If  you're 
goin'  along  er  me,  you'll  have  ter  get  a  wiggle  on.  I 
got  ter  get  ter  work." 

"He's  a-goin',  Tawm;  he's  a-go'n'  tah  staht  right 
now.  Didn'  yoh  say  yoh  had— no  gun?"  she  asked, 
addressing  Joyce. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  he  replied.  "I  don't  need  one 
now,  though,  if  I'm  going  down  with  Tom.  I'll  get 
one  in  the  morning,  if  necessary." 

"  You  don'  nevah  know  when  youah  go'n'  tah  need 
one  an'  when  youah  not,"  said  his  hostess,  reprov 
ingly.  "  Don'  nevah  talk  that  way ;  that  kindah  talk 
has  seen  the  en'  ah  some  mighty  good  men.  Take 
this."  As  she  spoke  she  drew  from  the  bosom  of 
her  gown  a  double-barrelled  derringer  and  held  it 
toward  him.  "Yoh  couldn'  have  nothin'  bettah  foh 
shawt  range,"  she  went  on,  mistaking  the  reason  for 
Joyce's  hesitation  in  taking  the  proffered  weapon. 
"  This  one  ain't  neah  so  hahd  tuh  cock  as  the  run  ah 
them  derringahs.  Put  it  in  the  outside  pocket  ah 
that  theah  jacket,  an'  keep  youah  han'  in  theah,  too. 
Then,  if  yoh  have  tuh  shoot,  get  as  close  as  yoh  can 
an'  tuhn  it  loose  right  th'ough  the  pocket.  An'  do  it 
quick." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  take  your  pistol,"  Joyce  ex 
postulated.     "  You'd  be  without  any  then,  and  really, 
I  haven't  any  particular  use  for  it  now." 
281 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  Don'  yuh  s'pose  I  got  anothah  ?  n  asked  Old  Mrs. 
Elkins,  impatiently.  "  Take  it." 

"  Why  don'  yer  take  it,  like  she  tells  yer  to  ? "  said 
Tom,  amazed  that  any  one  should  thus  trifle  with  the 
mandates  of  his  aunt.  "Come  along.  I  got  ter 
hurry.  Good  night." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  the  little  woman  standing  in 
the  doorway,  and  then  hastened  off.  Joyce  put  the 
derringer  in  his  pocket  and  followed. 

"  Good  night,"  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  called  after  them. 
"Don'  take  youah  han'  outah  youah  pocket  at  all; 
then  yoh  can't  go  wrong.  Remembah  that." 

"  She's  dead  right,"  Tom  agreed;  "but  that  she  al- 
wus  is.  You  won't  need  ter  do  no  shootin'  ter-night, 
though,  mos'  likely,  not  'thout  you  runs  yerself  right 
agains'  it.  I  don't  reckon  I'll  go  ter  work  ter-night. 
I'll  be  fresher  in  the  mornin',  then." 

"  Rather  an  odd  time  to  go  to  work,  anyhow,  isn't 
it  ? "  asked  Joyce. 

"  No.  It's  the  reg'lar  time  in  my  business.  Ther' 
ain't  nothin'  doin'  in  the  daytime.  I  run  the  Easy- 
Go —didn't  yer  know  that?  It's  a  square  game. 
Gener'ly  I  deal  one  er  the  tables  myself,  but  I'll  put 
somebody  else  on  this  evenin'.  Ter-morrer  I  start  in 
at  work  on  that  ther'  mine  er  yours.  We're  pardners 
in  that  mine,  you  'n'  me.  Don'  ferget  that,  an'  be 
careful  you  don't  queer  no  other  bluff  I  chuck.  It'll 
take  some  play  ter  pull  Lippy  Riley  fer  the  wad  he 
got  outer  you.  You  go  ?n'  turn  in  now.  Ther7  ain't 
no  need  fer  yer  ter  be  roun'  that  there  hole  in  the 
groun'  what  yer  call  the  Tio  Juan,  an'  yer  better  away ; 

282 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

but  if  yer  meander  down  there  some  time  in  the 
course  er  the  forenoon,  it  won't  do  no  harm." 

Joyce  began  to  ask  questions,  but  Tom  cut  him 
short.  "  Never  min'  what  I'm  a-go'n'  ter  do/'  said  he. 
"I  don't  rightly  know  myself,  yet.  But  Lippy'U 
cough  up  that  ther*  boodle  'fore  I'm  done  with  him. 
There  he  is  now,  on  the  veranda  er  the  hotel,  there. 
I'm  a-go'n'  ter  commence.  Don't  do  nothin'  ter  queer 
my  game,  now." 

Tom  walked  quickly  up  the  steps  of  the  veranda, 
and  exclaimed :  "  Well,  Lippy,  how're  they  comin' !  " 

"All  right,  I  reckon,"  growled  the  other,  suspi 
ciously. 

"  You  know  my  frien',  here,  Mr.  Bob  Joyce,"  Tom 
went  on.  "  You  orter,  anyhow.  I  don'  reckon  yerll 
fergit  him  like  this."  Tom  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed  uproariously.  The  laugh  seemed  to  Joyce 
too  natural  to  be  wholly  assumed.  "  Come  on,  now, 
an'  have  a  drink,"  Tom  concluded.  "  I  reckon  we  owe 
a  drink  ter  you." 

Riley  did  not  decline  invitations  of  this  kind,  no 
matter  how  suspicious  he  might  be.  He  rose  and 
followed  the  other  two  into  the  bar-room.  As  the 
bartender  saw  them  coming,  he  set  out  a  bottle  of 
dubious  whiskey  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  skated 
three  thick-bottomed  glasses  over  the  bar. 

"Well,  Lippy  /'said  Tom,  as  they  aU  three  filled 
their  glasses,  "here's  luck  ter  the  Tio  Juan— long  may 
she  wave." 

They  drank,  and  returned  their  glasses  to  the  bar 
with  a  simultaneous  thump.  Lippy  sighed  a  sigh  of 
283 


Sand  and  Cactus 

deep  satisfaction  and  wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of 
his  hand. 

"  So  long,  Lippy,"  said  Tom,  as  they  finished.  "  I'm 
a-go'n'  ter  take  a  look  at  them  there  papers  now.  I 
reckon  they're  all  right,  though,  ain't  they?  You 
know  Bob  Joyce  an'  me  has  took  on  as  pardners.  I'm 
startin'  in  work  there  in  the  mornin'.  Bob,  here,  was 
ter  work  ter-day,  an'  I  reckon  he  cleared  out  moster 
that  shotgun  gold  er  yours.  That's  clear  velvit.  See 
y'  again ;  good  night."  As  he  finished  speaking  Tom 
caught  Joyce  by  the  arm  and  led  him  quickly  from 
the  room. 

"  There  !  "  said  he,  as  they  drew  out  of  ear-shot  of 
the  bar-room.  "  I  reckon  I  give  'em  sun  thin'  ter  think 
about  until  mornin',  now.  What's  the  number  er  yer 
cage  ? " 

"My  room,  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Joyce. 

Tom  nodded. 

"Sure,"  said  he.  "That's  it?  All  right,  then. 
That's  all  I  wanter  know.  I  promised  her  I'd  see 
you  safe  in  yer  room.  What  I  said  about  lookin'  at 
the  papers  was  all  a  bluff— I  don't  care  nothin'  about 
them.  Any  time  you  happen  ter  turn  out,  jus'  stroll 
down  ter  the  Tio  Juan  an'  watch  me  diggin'  gold  out 
in  hunks.  Only  don't  you  say  a  word— I'm  a-runnin' 
this  yere  game  now.  Good  night." 

Tom  gently  pushed  his  companion  inside  the  bare 
little  stall  that  posed,  in  the  Boot  Leg  hotel,  for  a 
room,  and  then  closed  the  door  and  left  him. 

As  Tom's  footsteps  stamped  down  the  resounding 
stairs  and  then  died  away,  Joyce  drew  the  slender 
284 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

bolt  that  secured  his  door,  and,  laying  the  derringer 
of  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  on  a  chair  by  the  head  of  his  bed, 
rapidly  undressed. 

As  he  passed  by  the  hotel  veranda  on  his  way  to 
the  Tio  Juan,  the  next  morning,  several  of  the  men  he 
had  seen  the  night  before  were  sitting  there.  Relig 
iously  he  kept  his  hand  on  the  derringer  in  his  pocket, 
as  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  had  told  him  to,  but  no  one  offered 
to  interfere  with  him.  Scowling  looks  and  a  muttered 
growl  from  one  or  two  of  the  men  seemed  to  serve  as 
a  source  of  amusement  for  the  rest.  A  rumor  that  in 
some  unknown  way  Joyce  had  got  the  better  of  Riley 
in  a  mining  deal  was  current  among  the  men,  and, 
though  Joyce  did  not  know  it,  had  raised  him  many 
degrees  in  their  estimation.  He  passed  on  without 
speaking  to  them,  and  hurried  down  the  path  that  led 
down  the  river,  where  Tom  was  standing  waist  deep 
in  the  shallow  depression  that  marked  the  Tio  Juan. 
Several  men  were  lounging  about  the  edge. 

"  Mornin',  Bob,"  called  Tom,  cheerily,  as  Joyce  ap 
proached.  "  These  yere  gentlemen  is  anxious  ter  get 
at  the  bottom  fact  about  this  yere  mine.  They  been 
askin'  me  questions  till  they're  black  in  the  face." 

"  What  did  you  tell  them  ? "  asked  Joyce. 

"No thin',  only  that  if  we  was  willin'  ter  have  a  salted 
hole  in  the  ground  shoved  off  on  us  fer  a  mine,  they 
oughtn't  ter  have  no  kick  comin',  that's  all.  Come  over 
here  a  bit,  Bob ;  I  got  sunthin'  I  wanter  see  yer  about." 

Taking  the  hint,  the  men  laughed  the  uneasy  laugh 
of  those  who  wish  to  conciliate,  and  then  moved  away. 
Tom  drew  his  partner  to  one  side. 

285 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"  I  wanted  ter  get  rid  er  them  ducks,"  said  Tom,  as 
the  last  man  disappeared.  "  They  keeps  on  tryin'  ter 
get  me  ter  tell  why  I'm  in  this  yere  business  when  I 
alwus  said  I  hadn't  no  use  fer  mines.  They  think 
you're  some  big  minin'  sharp  what's  seen  all  along 
that  this  is  a  good  thing,  an'  got  it  cheap  f  m  Lippy 
an'  then  let  me  in.  The  claims  on  both  sides  has  gone 
up  so's  no  one  can't  buy  'em.  I  ain't  said  a  word, 
only  that  you  thought  you  knowed  a  good  thing 
when  you  see  it,  an'  couldn't  let  no  chance  slip.  There 
ain't  no  lie  in  none  er  that,  you  see.  They're  foolin' 
themselves,  though.  Lippy  Riley  was  down  here 
twice  already.  Oh,  we'll  get  him  all  right,  all  right. 
Jus'  you  watch  me  come  home  at  noon.  Oh,  say, 
I  mos'  f  ergot !  She  tol'  me  ter  tell  yer,  come  up  t'  th' 
house  as  soon's  yer  can,  an'  stay  ter  dinner.  Here 
she  comes,  now;  an'  here  comes  Lippy  Riley,  too. 
You  better  mosey  'long,  so's  yer  won't  queer  my 
game.  I'll  be  home  in  an  hour  er  two." 

As  Tom  finished  speaking,  Riley  and  Old  Mrs. 
Elkins  appeared,  coming  from  different  directions. 
From  his  manner,  Riley  evidently  wished  to  speak 
with  Tom,  and  Joyce,  therefore,  went  to  meet  Old 
Mrs.  Elkins,  who  at  once  took  him  home  with  her. 

"  Set  right  down  heah  an'  smoke  youah  pipe,  an'  let 
me  know  when  yoh  see  Tawm  a-comin',"  said  she,  as 
they  reached  her  cottage,  pointing  to  a  box  that  stood 
on  the  little  veranda.  "I'm  a-go'n'  tah  get  dinnah 
ready,  an'  I'd  like  tah  know  when  tah  set  it  out." 

Joyce  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was  in  order  to 
keep  him  from  wandering  into  possible  danger  that 

286 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

he  was  stationed  in  that  place,  yet  he  accepted  the 
situation  as  meekly  as  Tom  himself  could  have  done. 
Old  Mrs.  El  kins  had  a  wonderful  faculty  of  obtain 
ing  obedience  from  those  with  whom  she  came  in 
contact. 

The  shade  and  the  cool  breeze  that  blew  over  this 
elevated  spot  were  grateful  enough  after  the  glare 
and  heat  of  the  plain  below,  and  the  time  passed  not 
unpleasantly  to  Joyce  as  he  sat  there.  He  could  see 
nearly  down  to  the  Tio  Juan  itself,  so  that  Tom  had 
hardly  left  the  mine  when  Joyce  spied  him.  He  called 
the  news  to  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  and  then  sat  watching 
Tom  as  he  approached.  In  his  left  hand  Tom  was 
carrying  a  bundle  done  up  in  a  red  bandanna  hand 
kerchief  ;  his  right  hand  was  resting  on  the  pistol 
that  hung  in  his  belt.  It  seemed  to  be  a  very  heavy 
bundle,  for  once  Tom  set  it  down  and  rested  a  minute. 

When  he  lifted  it  again,  something  fell  from  it, 
apparently  unperceived  by  Tom,  who  took  up  his  jour 
ney  toward  the  house  without  looking  back. 

The  thing  that  dropped  from  the  bundle,  whatever 
it  was,  was  at  once  pounced  upon  by  two  or  three 
men  who  were  following  Tom  at  some  distance.  They 
examined  it  eagerly,  passing  it  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  then  putting  their  heads  together  in  an  excited 
group.  They  were  still  standing  in  this  way  when 
Tom  came  up  the  steps  and,  with  a  nod  to  Joyce, 
carried  his  bundle  directly  into  the  house. 

"Look  here,  Tom,  did  you  know  that  you  dropped 
something  out  of  that  bundle  just  now  ?  "  asked  Joyce, 
following  Tom  into  the  house. 

287 


Sand  and  Cactus 

Tom  winked  knowingly.  "  I  know  all  erbout  that," 
said  he.  "It  was  gold  what  they  picked  up— a  little 
nugget.  I  see  them  fellers  a-follerin7  me,  so  I  thought 
I'd  give  'em  sunthin7  ter  think  erbout.  It'll  keep  7em 
guessin7  fer  a  while,  I  reckon.'7 

Tom  opened  the  handkerchief  as  he  was  speaking, 
disclosing  a  lot  of  water- worn  pebbles  from  the  river 
bed.  He  shied  them  out  of  the  window,  one  after 
another,  then  shook  out  the  handkerchief  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket. 

"  Don't  ask  no  questions,"  said  he,  seeing  that  Joyce 
was  looking  at  him  curiously.  "  I'm  runnin7  this  here 
Tio  Juan  outfit  now,  an7  I'm  sure  a-runnin'  her  fer 
all  she's  worth,  too.  Dinner  ready  ?  Well,  jus'  wait  a 
week,  an'  I'll  be  ready,  too." 

Taking  a  tin  basin  from  where  it  hung  on  a  nail, 
Tom  left  the  room.  Outside  he  was  heard  to  splash 
and  sputter  for  a  minute  or  two,  after  which  he  re 
turned,  red  and  polished,  and  took  his  seat  at  the 
table.  He  was  in  high  spirits  as  he  hurried  through 
with  his  dinner. 

"  They're  sure  a-bitin7,"  said  he,  between  the  mouth- 
fuls,  "  Riley  mos7  of  all.  I  had  three  offers  fer  the 
Tio  Juan  already  this  mornin7,  an7  I  reckon  I711  get 
one  to  reach  my  figgers  'fore  night.  I  tell  'em  the 
mine  ain't  no  good,  an'  they  think  I'm  lyin'.  I  says 
I  don't  see's  I  got  any  call  fer  to  try  'n'  sell  the  mine, 
an7  wouldn7t,  only  that  you  wanter;  an7  that  they 
s  wallers  whole— an7  there  ain't  no  lie  in  it.  I  ain't 
told  a  lie  yet,  though  I  could  'a'  put  up  some  gilt-edged 
ones  if  I'd  'a'  had  ter.  Oh,  say,  it's  great  sport !  "  Tom 

288 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

stopped  in  order  to  laugh,  but  choked  the  laugh 
short,  and  added  more  gravely :  "  Look-a  yere ;  you 
wanter  keep  them  papers  where  you  c'n  get  at  'em 
sudden  when  I  come  fer  'em,  an'  I'm  liable  ter  come 
mos'  any  time.  Got  'em  here  ?  Yes  ?  That's  right. 
Well,  I  mus'  go  now." 

" Don't  you  think  I'd  better  go  with  you?"  asked 
Joyce. 

"  Not  much  !  "  replied  Tom,  emphatically.  "  Why, 
you  couldn't  do  no  good— might  knock  the  whole 
business.  Besides,  there  ain't  no  tellin'  what  Lippv 
Riley'U  do.  He  ain't  a  nice  boy,  an'  he  ain't  none  too 
pleased  by  thinkin'  he  sol'  a  mine  when  he  meant  ter 
shove  the  salt  onto  a  tenderfoot.  You  stay  here  along 
er  her.  She's  a  better  man  'n  he  is,  any  time." 

"  I  don't  want  anybody  to  take  care  of  me ;  I  can 
take  care  of  myself,"  cried  Joyce,  hotly,  rather  indig 
nant  at  the  idea  of  being  consigned  to  the  protection 
of  a  woman. 

Tom  grinned  indulgently. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  consolingly.  "  I  knowed 
you  was  all  there  when  it  comes  to  a  scrap— fists  an* 
that ;  but  this  yere  would  be  a  fight,  an'  you  said  you 
couldn't  shoot." 

"  I  said  I  wasn't  much  good  with  a  pistol— I've  not 
practised  much.  I've  won  a  few  prizes  at  the  pigeons, 
though,  and  I  don't  think  I'd  miss  a  man  at  twenty 
yards  rise,"  replied  Joyce,  looking  at  a  shotgun  that 
stood  in  a  corner. 

"  You  don't  say  !  That's  good.  Well,  there's  twelve 
buckshot  in  each  bar*!,  if  the  charges  are  like  I  left 
289 


Sand  and  Cactus 

'em,  an'  the  ca'tridges  is  on  the  shelf.  You  won't 
have  no  call  to  use  her,  mos'  like.  See  you  later." 

Tom  swung  out  of  the  door,  and  his  footsteps  died 
away  as  he  walked  rapidly  down  the  road.  Joyce 
picked  up  the  gun,  threw  open  the  breech,  and  with 
drawing  the  two  cartridges,  looked  at  the  pasteboard 
wads  that  closed  them.  On  each  was  printed  with  a 
rubber  stamp  the  letters  "  Bck.,"  and  underneath,  "  4J 
dr."  Joyce  examined  the  weapon  critically,  and  in  a 
manner  that  showed  his  familiarity  with  its  use,  before 
replacing  the  charges  and  setting  it  carefully  aside. 
Old  Mrs.  Elkins  was  watching  him  closely. 

"  Yoh  know  how  tah  use  it,  all  right,"  said  she,  as 
Joyce  closed  the  breech  and  set  down  the  gun.  "  Any 
one  could  see  that.  I'm  glad  yoh  can ;  Tawm'll  think 
all  the  bettah  of  yoh  foh  it.  Not  that  he  don'  think 
well  of  yoh  now,"  she  hastened  to  add,  "but  he'll 
think  moah  yet  if  yoh  can  shoot.  He  ain't  much  with 
a  shawtgun  himself,  but  theah  ain't  nobody  roun' 
heah  that  can  best  him  with  a  six-shootah.  If  theah 
was  only  time,  yoh  could  take  him  out  an'  show  him. 
But  theah  ain't  time." 

"Not  time?  Why  not?"  asked  Joyce.  "I'd  like 
awfully  well  to  go  shooting  with  him,  as  soon  as  this 
affair  is  settled.  I  can  go  any  time,  then." 

Old  Mrs.  Elkins  made  no  reply  to  Joyce's  ques 
tions. 

"  My  boy— him  that's  gone— him  that  you  look  like 
—was  a  mighty  fine  han'  with  a  shawtgun,"  said  she, 
with  an  air  of  timidity  that  always  came  over  her 
when  this  subject  was  introduced.  "  Theah  wasn'  no 

290 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

men  that  could  beat  him,  back  where  we  lived  then, 
in  Texas.  An7  he  wasn'  only  sixteen  yeah  ol'." 

"  I  suppose  he  had  lots  of  chances  to  practise,"  said 
Joyce,  rather  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  "  Very  likely  he 
could  use  a  six-shooter  pretty  well,  too.  Couldn't  he  ? ' 

Her  face  flushed  with  pride.  "  The  othah  men  had 
the  drawp,"  she  replied,  "  an7  they  was  three  tah  one ; 
yet  my  boy  fiahed  two  shawts  an'  got  one  man  bef  oah 
he  fell.  He'd  killed  the  brothah  of  one  ah  the  men 
foh  beatin'  a  woman— a  greasah  woman  j  that's  what 
stahted  it." 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  you're  proud  of  that  boy  of 
yours,"  said  Joyce.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  gave  him  a  look 
full  of  gratitude,  then  went  to  a  window  and  stood 
looking  out.  Joyce  did  not  care  to  pursue  further  so 
delicate  a  subject.  "  Isn't  it  awfully  odd,"  he  asked, 
"  that  those  chaps  who  went  and  salted  this  mine  and 
sold  it  to  me  will  turn  right  around  and  buy  it  again  ?  " 

"No,  it  ain't  noways  strange,"  she  replied.  "Men 
what  goes  intah  a  game  like  that  don'  nevah  seem  tah 
think  that  they  can  be  done  on  the  same  lay.  I  seen 
it  wuhked  times  outah  min'.  Besides,  they  all  know 
Tawm  don't  like  diggin'  none  too  well,  an'  they'll 
think  that  he  wouldn't  do  it  without  big  money  in 
sight.  An'  then,  this  man  Riley  ain't  noways  brilliant. 
He's  crooked,  that's  all.  Heah  comes  Tawm  now. 
He's  aftah  the  papers,  prawb'ly/' 

Tom's  footstep  was  heard  on  the  veranda,  and  as 
she  was  speaking  he  burst  into  the  room. 

"  Gimme  the  papers,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  entered. 
"I've  made  the  deal— that  is,  I  reckon  I  have.  It'll 
291 


Sand  and  Cactus 

take  some  play,  though,  yet.  These  them?  All 
right."  Tom  put  the  documents  carefully  inside  his 
flannel  shirt,  and  turned  to  go,  but  stopped  as  he 
reached  the  door.  "  I  don't  know  when  Til  be  back," 
he  called.  "  It'll  take  a  little  time  fer  Riley  ter  chaw 
it  all  over,  an7  a  longer  time  yet  'fore  he  c'n  get  the 
money.  He'll  have  ter  get  the  money,  though  5  this 
here's  a  cash  game,  you  bet.  You  wait  here,  Bob. 
So  long." 

Tom  ran  from  the  room ;  the  last  words  were  spoken 
as  he  went  down  the  path.  Joyce  went  out  on  the 
veranda,  and  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  came  and  stood  beside 
him.  Together  they  watched  Tom  until  he  disap 
peared.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins's  face  was  troubled  as  she 
turned  to  go  into  the  house,  and  Joyce  noticed  it. 

"  Do  you  suppose  Tom  is  in  any  danger  ? "  he  asked, 
in  concern.  "I'd  far  and  away  rather  not  sell  the 
mine  than  to  have  him  run  any  risk  in  trying  to  do 
me  a  service.  Besides,  if  there  is  danger,  it's  my 
business  to  be  there,  not  his." 

"That's  jus'  like  my  boy,"  commented  Old  Mrs. 
Elkins.  "  Of  cohse  yoh  wantah  be  in  whatevah  comes. 
But  yoh  mus'n'.  Theah'd  be  a  lot  moah  dangah  if  yoh 
was  theah  than  if  yoh  was  heah.  Now  don't  yoh  talk  DO 
moah  about  it,  but  sit  right  down  heah  an'  let  Tawm 
run  things.  Theah  ain't  nothin'  tah  do  but  wait." 

At  first  Joyce  hesitated,  and  was  almost  inclined 
to  rebel  against  this  waiting  policy  to  which  the  old 
woman  had  committed  him.  Still,  as  she  and  her 
nephew  were  acting  solely  in  his-  interest,  it  certainly 
was  their  due  to  have  their  own  way  in  the  affair. 

292 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

Joyce  decided  to  wait  with  what  patience  he  could 
command. 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  away.  Joyce  paced  the 
little  veranda  restlessty,  keeping  at  the  same  time  a 
sharp  lookout  over  the  town.  Once  he  thought  he 
saw  Tom,  accompanied  by  a  group  of  excited  men, 
passing  down  one  of  the  streets ;  but  only  a  glimpse 
was  to  be  had,  and  the  distance  was  too  great  to  make 
sure.  As  the  sun  slowly  descended  toward  the  dry 
mountains  that  bounded  the  plain,  the  anxiety  of 
the  young  Easterner  grew.  From  time  to  time  Old 
Mrs.  Elkins  would  come  out  on  the  veranda,  and, 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  would  glance  rapidly 
over  the  visible  portion  of  the  town.  These  visits 
became  more  frequent  as  one  hour  after  another 
passed  by. 

At  last  the  sun  went  down,  and  without  any  twilight 
interval,  the  blue  evening  came.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins 
announced  that  supper  was  ready,  and  Joyce  went 
into  the  house  and  seated  himself  at  the  table ;  but 
he  ate  nothing,  and  made  an  excuse  to  return  to  his 
post  on  the  veranda. 

It  was  quite  dark.  The  stars  were  shining  bril 
liantly  ;  so  were  the  lights  of  the  distant  saloons ;  and 
in  one  place,  where  the  blacksmith  had  been  setting  a 
tire,  there  glowed  a  circle  of  deep-red  coals.  Half  un 
consciously  Joyce  had  heard  the  rattle  of  the  dishes  as 
Old  Mrs.Elkins  cleared  the  table ;  then  he  became  aware 
that  the  rattling  had  stopped.  He  looked  through  the 
window,  and  saw  that  the  room  was  empty. 

Joyce  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer.     Stepping 

293 


Sand  and  Cactus 

lightly  into  the  house,  he  picked  up  the  shotgun,  and, 
opening  the  breech,  saw  that  the  cartridges  were  un 
disturbed,  then  snapped  the  barrels  shut  and  stole  out 
of  the  door  and  down  the  road  toward  the  town.  He 
walked  rapidly,  his  spirits  rising  at  each  step  at  the 
thought  of  possible  action  and  the  familiar  feel  of  the 
weapon  in  his  hand. 

Across  the  piece  of  vacant  ground  where  the  tire 
had  been  heated  some  one  was  coming,  and  was  whis 
tling  as  he  came.  As  the  dull-red  light  from  the  circle 
of  glowing  coals  fell  upon  this  person,  Joyce  saw 
that  it  was  Tom.  There  was  a  stir  in  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  blacksmith  shop.  A  voice  cried,  "  Hands  up  !  " 

Instantly  Tom  leaped  aside  in  order  to  get  out  of 
the  light,  drawing  his  pistol  as  he  did  so.  At  the 
same  instant  there  came  from  the  shadow  a  red  spurt 
of  flame  and  a  sharp  report.  Tom  threw  up  his  arms 
and  fell  backward  as  though  struck  by  a  hammer. 

Four  men  darted  from  the  shadow.  Throwing  the 
gun  to  his  shoulder,  Joyce  fired  at  two  of  them,  giv 
ing  a  barrel  to  each.  The  range  was  long  for  a  shot 
gun,  even  though  it  was  throwing  buckshot.  One  of 
the  men  fell,  then  struggled  to  rise.  One  of  his  com 
rades  helped  him  to  his  feet,  and  they  both  vanished 
into  the  darkness.  Shouting  for  help,  Joyce  darted 
forward,  running  as  he  had  never  run  before.  The 
two  remaining  men  stood  their  ground,  and  as  soon 
as  they  could  see  him  they  both  fired,  and  missed. 
Joyce  swung  the  empty  gun  around  his  head  and 
threw  it,  striking  one  of  the  men  on  the  breast  and 
felling  him. 

294 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

As  tlie  other  man  levelled  liis  pistol  for  a  second 
shot,  Joyce  stooped,  and,  rushing  forward,  caught  him 
with  a  foot-ball  tackle  around  the  waist.  He  was 
lifted  from  the  ground,  and  with  all  the  impetus  of 
the  rush,  and  with  all  the  strength  of  the  big  ten 
derfoot's  trained  muscles,  he  was  thrown  backward 
into  the  circle  of  coals.  He  shrieked  frantically ;  his 
clothes  were  smouldering  in  a  dozen  places  as  he 
rolled  out  of  the  fire  and  lay  writhing  on  the  ground 
beside  it. 

Then  three  pistol-shots  cracked  in  the  darkness, 
with  scarcely  an  appreciable  interval  between  them. 

The  man  who  had  been  hit  by  the  gun,  and  who, 
pistol  in  hand,  had  risen  on  one  elbow,  shivered,  fell 
back,  and  lay  still.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  hobbled  into 
the  firelight.  A  cartridge-belt  supporting  an  empty 
holster  was  buckled  around  her  waist.  In  her  hand 
she  held  a  heavy  pistol,  with  a  faint  wreath  of  smoke 
still  curling  from  its  muzzle. 

Boot  Leg  hummed  like  a  hive.  One  shout  answered 
another,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  many  running 
feet.  Joyce  was  dazed.  He  was  dimly  conscious 
that  the  ground  seemed  instantly  to  be  covered  with 
men ;  that  he  asked  some  one  if  Tom  were  dead,  and 
that  he  was  roughly  told  not  to  be  a  fool,  but  to  help 
carry  Tom  home,  which  he  did.  On  the  way  he  heard 
Old  Mrs.  Elkins  ask  him  why  he  had  not  used  the 
derringer  that  was  in  his  pocket,  and  he  owned  with 
shame  that  he  had  utterly  forgotten  that  it  was 
there. 

Then  he  sat  in  the  little  kitchen  waiting  for  news 

295 


Sand  and  Cactus 

of  Tom.     It  was  hours  before  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  ap 
peared. 

"No,  lie  won't  die— he'll  get  along  all  right,  I 
reckon,"  she  said  joyfully,  anticipating  his  question. 
"Yoh  done  beautiful— beautiful.  Tawm  an'  me  is 
mighty  proud  ah  yoh— yoh  don'  min',  do  yoh?"  she 
added  apologetically,  timidly  stretching  out  her  hand. 
Joyce  shook  it  gratefully.  "Heah's  the  money  foh 
that  theah  mine,"  said  she,  after  a  moment.  "  That's 
what  he  was  held  up  for.  Count  it." 

Joyce  took  the  buckskin  bag  that  she  held  toward 
him,  emptied  the  gold  pieces  that  were  in  it  on  the 
table,  and  did  as  he  was  told. 

"  Why,  this  is  half  as  much  again  as  I  paid  for  the 
mine,"  said  he,  as  he  finished  counting. 

Old  Mrs.  Elkins  nodded. 

"  That  was  Tawm's  figgah  what  he  was  a-talkin' 
about,"  said  she,  proudly. 

Joyce  quickly  separated  the  coins  into  three  equal 
piles.  "  That's  your  share  and  Tom's,"  said  he,  push 
ing  two  of  the  piles  toward  her. 

"  Tawm  an'  me  ain't  in  the  mine-floatin'  business," 
answered  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  indignantly.  "Not  one 
cent  ah  that  theah  money  do  I  touch,  an'  no  moah 
does  Tawm.  He  wouldn't  anyhow,  but  if  he  would  I'd 
not  own  him.  D'yoh  think  Tawm's  blood's  foh  sale  ? " 

Joyce  was  troubled,  and  stood  uneasily  fingering 
the  piles  of  gold.  After  the  last  part  of  Old  Mrs. 
Elkins's  speech,  he  hardly  knew  how  to  return  to  the 
subject.  She  had  counted  on  that  fact.  "But  I 
must  do  something,"  he  said,  at  last,  despairingly. 

296 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

Old  Mrs.  Elkins  stepped  eagerly  forward.  "  Theah 
is  one  thing  yoh  c'n  do/'  she  cried.  "  It's  a  favah  foh 
me— f oh  me  an'  Tawm.  Will  yoh  do  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will— you  know  I  will.    What  is  it  ? " 

"  D'yoh  promise— on  yoh  wuhd?" 

"  Surely.     Very  gladly." 

"Well,  I  want  yoh  tah  leave  this  heah  town.  It 
ain't  no  place  foh  yoh.  Yoh  can't  do  nothin'  heah, 
an'  likely  theah'll  be  trouble  foh  yoh  if  yoh  do— 
trouble  foh  yoh,  that  is,  an'  maybe  foh  us,  if  yoh  was 
heah.  Theah's  a  train  what  leaves  at  sun-up,  an 
houah  f  om  now,  an'  I  want  yoh  tah  take  it." 

"But  I  can't  go  like  this,"  Joyce  remonstrated. 
"  There  are  a  hundred  things  to  prevent.  I  haven't 
got  my  things  packed,  even.  Then,  I  want  to  hear 
what  the  doctor  says,  when  he  comes ;  and  I  ought  to 
be  here  to  testify  against  those  men  when  they're 
brought  to  trial.  I  must  stay  for  a  few  days,  anyhow. 
Really,  I  can't  leave  you  in  this  way." 

"  Yoh'll  go  on  that  train,"  replied  Old  Mrs.  Elkins. 
"Yoh  promised.  Youah  things  is  all  right;  I 
packed  'em  myself,  an'  Tawm  he  had  'em  taken  down 
tah  the  cah-shed,  all  ready.  Tawm  wiahed  foh  a 
doctah,  too,  foh  me,  one  ah  the  boys  said.  He'll 
come  on  the  same  train  as  yoh  go  by,  so  theah  ain't 
no  way  tah  see  him.  But  I  know  jus'  as  well  as  he 
does  about  a  huht  like  Tawm's.  Theah  won't  be  no 
call  foh  any  testifyin'.  The  boys  is  out  aftah  them 
men  now,  an'  they  can't  help  but  get  'em.  I  reckon 
we  bettah  staht— I'll  walk  down  with  yoh." 

Still  remonstrating,  Joyce  was  started  for  the  train 


Sand  and  Cactus 

before  he  fairly  realized  it.  Old  Mrs.  Elkins  had  cal 
culated  the  time  well ;  there  was  barely  time  for  him 
to  buy  his  ticket  and  get  on  board,  and  none  at  all 
for  thoughts  of  final  backsliding.  He  stood  on  the 
rear  platform  as  the  train  drew  out,  waving  his  hat  in 
farewell  to  Old  Mrs.  Elkins,  who  stood  looking  after 
him  as  long  as  the  tr.ain  was  in  sight.  Then,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  she  hurried  home.  The  doctor  was  already 
bending  over  Tom  when  she  reached  the  house.  She 
passed  quietly  through  his  room  and  out  by  another 
door. 

"  How's  it  comin',  doc  ? "  asked  Tom,  faintly,  look 
ing  up  at  the  physician. 

"All  right.  Don't  talk,"  answered  the  other, 
sharply. 

"  Plunked  th'ough  the  slats  ? "  inquired  Tom,  again. 

"  No.  The  ball  glanced  on  one  of  the  slats,  as  you 
call  them.  Don't  talk,  I  tell  you.  You'll  be  all 
right." 

"  I  got  ter  talk  fer  a  minute  j  then  I'll  plug  myself 
up.  Listen.  I  want  you  ter  see  her— OP  Mis'  Elkins 
—savvy?  Ther's  sun  thin'  dead  wrong  with  her." 

"  All  right  j  now  shut  up,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"No,  but  this  is  dead  level.  She  ain't  sick  ter  look 
at,"  gasped  Tom,  laboriously,  "but  sunthin's  got  off 
jus'  the  same.  She's  cryin'  all  the  time,  an'  she's  off 
her  feed.  She  never  did  that  way  till  now.  She 
wanted  ter  get  that  ther7  tenderfoot  roun'  the  house 
here,  an'  she  did,  an'  every  time,  as  soon's  he  went,  she 
cried.  She  didn't  think  I  ketched  on,  but  I  did.  Then 
she's  busted  ter  get  him  outer  the  place,  here,— 

298 


The  Salting  of  the  Tio  Juan 

changed  right  roun',— an'  she  did  get  him  ter  go  jus' 
now,  an'  now  he's  gone  she's  eryin'  again.  I  see  her 
when  she  come  through  the  room  a  minute  back. 
She's  sure  sick  somehow.  You  ten'  ter  that,  will 
yer?" 

The  doctor  nodded,  and  Tom  closed  his  eyes  and 

was  content. 


299 


A  BROTHER  TO   ST.  JAMES 


A  BROTHER  TO   ST.  JAMES 


IT  was  a  very  small  telegraph-station,  just  a  tiny 
pimple  on  the  face  of  the  great  desert.     The  one 
kerosene-lamp  that  lighted  it  burnt  dimly  and  with 
an  evil  smell,  for  the  night  was  hot  and  the  flame  was 
turned  low.     On  every  side,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,   stretched  the   sandy  plain.     There  were  no 
signs  of  a  town,  no  signs  of  man,  except  the  station 
itself,  the  two  lines  of  glittering  rails,  and  the  heavily 
shadowed  prints  of  horses'  hoofs,  shown  by  the  faint 
light  that  came  from  the  station  window. 

The  operator  dozed,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  straighten  in  his  seat 
and  wave  a  tattered  palm-leaf  fan,  that  scarcely  stirred 
the  hot,  dry  air;  then  he  would  fix  his  eyes  on  the 
white-painted,  fly-covered  ceiling,  and  sink  once  more 
into  a  state  of  semiconsciousness.  It  was  very  lonely. 
The  ticking  of  a  little  nickel  alarm-clock,  as  it  pounded 
its  way  through  the  slowly  passing  hours,  was  the 
only  sound  that  broke  the  oppressive  stillness,  save 
once  when  the  telegraph-instrument  clicked  with  an 
ever-recurring  succession  of  sounds ;  but  the  operator 

3°3 


Sand  and  Cactus 

knew  that  the  wire  was  not  calling  him,  and  he  did 
not  stir. 

At  length  the  distant  rumble  of  a  train  sang  a  deep 
bass  that  emphasized  the  silence.  It  came  rapidly 
nearer,  and  as  it  came  the  operator  woke  and  sat  up 
to  listen  to  the  only  break  in  the  monotony  of  the 
night.  Then  the  rumble  ended  in  a  long,  crashing 
roar— a  roar  that  stopped  and  for  a  few  seconds  left 
the  desert  doubly  still  by  contrast.  After  a  moment, 
shrieks  and  oaths  and  popping  shots  rang  distinctly 
over  the  plain.  Springing  to  his  feet,  the  operator 
started  for  the  door,  but  stopped  as  though  he  had 
come  against  a  wall,  for,  standing  in  the  doorway,  a 
masked  figure  held  a  pistol  pointed  at  his  head. 

"  Han's  up,"  said  this  figure,  quietly,  in  a  voice  that 
was  evidently  assumed. 

For  an  instant  the  operator  hesitated,  looking 
quickly  at  his  own  pistol  hanging  in  its  holster  on 
the  wall,  and  at  the  telegraph-key.  A  shot  filled  the 
room  with  sudden  noise  and  smoke ;  the  bullet,  glanc 
ing  on  the  key,  buried  itself  in  the  wall,  and  through 
the  singing  in  his  ears  the  operator  could  hear  the 
voice,  quiet  as  before,  saying:  " Han's  up,  I  said. 
Don't  wait." 

The  operator  reluctantly  raised  his  hands  above 
his  head. 

"I  kinder  took  temptation  outer  yer  reach  that 
time,"  the  voice  went  on.  "You  better  not  look 
round  again,  though.  Besides,  the  wires  is  bein'  cut 
—hear  ? " 

The  operator  listened.    Outside  the  station  he  could 

3°4 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

hear  the  creak  of  a  saddle,  the  hard  breathing  of  a 
man,  and  the  shaking  of  wires;  then  the  impatient 
tapping  of  cut  ends  as  they  struck  the  side  of  the 
station  at  each  oscillation. 

"Turn  yer  face  ter  the  wall  an'  stan'  there,"  said 
the  voice  again.  "  Don't  fergit  ter  keep  yer  han's  up." 

The  operator  obeyed.  Against  the  wall  hung  a  little 
mirror,  with  a  flap  of  paper  over  its  face  to  keep 
away  the  swarming  flies.  Close  to  this  mirror  the 
operator  placed  his  face,  and  with  his  tongue  he 
worked  the  paper  to  one  side,  so  that  an  edge  of  the 
glass  was  exposed,  and  he  could  see  reflected  there 
the  figure  that  stood  in  the  doorway.  It  was  clothed 
entirely  in  new  blue  overalls ;  the  head  was  covered 
with  a  white  hood  that  came  low  over  the  shoulders, 
and  had  holes  cut  for  the  eyes,  that  glittered  behind 
them.  The  hands  were  gloved.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  disguise  that  could  give  a  clew  as  to  the  iden 
tity  of  its  wearer. 

Five  minutes  passed  slowly  by.  By  this  time  the 
shots  had  ceased,  and  so  had  the  yells;  there  was 
only  an  indefinable  murmur  that  told  that  the  desert 
was  not  as  usual.  At  length  the  tread  of  two  horses 
fell  almost  noiselessly  on  the  soft  sand  and  stopped 
near  the  door.  There  was  another  interval  of  wait 
ing,  and  then  two  shots  were  fired,  followed,  after  a 
pause,  by  a  third. 

"Keep  yer  face  where  it  is— keep  it  thar  ten 
minutes,"  said  the  voice  once  more. 

In  the  mirror  the  operator  could  see  that  the  figure 
backed  slowly  out  of  sight,  suddenly  reappeared,  and 

3°5 


Sand  and  Cactus 

vanished  again.  Then  a  saddle  creaked  as  some  one 
swung  into  it.  The  operator  turned  quickly,  caught 
up  the  lamp  and  threw  it  out  of  the  window,  and 
snatching  his  pistol  from  the  wall,  darted  from  the 
room.  At  first  he  could  see  nothing  5  then  several 
mounted  figures  were  outlined  for  an  instant  against 
the  sky  as  they  passed  over  a  ridge.  A  moment 
later  two  more  figures  appeared  and  vanished  in  the 
same  way. 

Some  distance  down  the  track,  bobbing  specks  of 
light  were  passing  to  and  fro  around  a  dark  mass  that 
terminated  the  glitter  of  the  polished  rails.  Toward 
this  spot  the  operator  started  in  a  swinging  trot  that 
carried  him  over  the  ground  rapidly,  yet  suggested  a 
certain  indolence  of  movement,  as  though,  even  in  his 
haste,  the  man  was  unable  to  shake  off  the  effect  of 
long  habit.  As  he  approached  the  mass  it  took  more 
definite  form,  and  the  specks  of  light  became  lanterns 
carried  by  men,  who  hurried  here  and  there  with  ap 
parent  aimlessness.  He  could  see  the  engine  lying 
helplessly  on  its  side,  a  bed  of  glowing  coals  beside 
it,  and  the  wreaths  of  steam  that  issued  from  a  hun 
dred  unintended  vents  in  its  shattered  mechanism. 
The  tender  was  a  mere  heap  of  twisted  plates,  and  the 
mail-car  had  slipped  into  the  car  ahead  of  it,  leaving 
its  trucks  behind,  as  though  it  had  taken  off  its  over 
shoes  before  entering.  A  knot  of  people  surrounded 
a  doctor,  who  was  bending  over  a  man  that  lay  very 
still  on  the  sand.  The  passengers,  gathered  around 
the  derailed  train,  discussed  the  affair  excitedly,  and 
a  group  followed  the  conductor,  cross-examining  him, 
306 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

as  he  walked  here  and  there  in  a  vain  attempt  to  rid 
himself  of  them. 

"  Hello,  Danf  orth  !  "  said  the  operator,  going  up  to 
the  harassed  official.  "  How  did  it  happen  f " 

"  Have  you  wired  for  a  wrecking-train  1"  asked  the 
conductor,  ignoring  the  operator's  question.  "One 
of  the  boys  has  just  gone  along  to  your  station." 

"He  might  just  as  well  come  back  again,  then," 
answered  the  operator,  composedly.  "They've  cut 
the  wires.  Many  hurt  1 " 

"Express-messenger,  driver,  and  fireman,  and  a 
few  cut  with  glass.  Those  thieves  went  through  the 
express-car  like  a  bullet  through  a  punkin,  then  nipped 
the  registered  mail,  and  cleared.  Didn't  bother  the 
passengers.  Can't  you  mend  those  wires?"  The 
conductor's  hand  was  shaking,  and  he  evidently  held 
himself  together  with  an  effort. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  can  patch  them  up  somehow,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  the  operator,  nodding  easily.  "Just  hold 
the  passengers  where  they  are,  will  you?  I  don't 
want  them  bothering  around." 

The  operator  started  back  to  his  station,  passing 
one  of  the  passengers,  who  was  pacing  nervously  up 
and  down  beside  the  track. 

The  passenger  was  a  tall  man,  thin  and  stooped, 
dressed  in  clerical  garb.  A  small  cut  on  his  forehead 
had  been  bleeding  a  trifle,  and  though  it  had  stopped, 
the  clergyman  still  mopped  it  with  his  handkerchief. 
He  was  greatly  agitated.  Now  and  then  he  would 
interrupt  the  work  of  the  handkerchief  long  enough 
to  clasp  his  hands  together  as  though  he  were  in  pain. 

3°7 


Sand  and  Cactus 

The  operator  was  passing  him  by  with  a  casual  glance, 
then  stopped,  and  stood  facing  him. 

"Look  here,  James,"  said  he,  in  his  lazy  voice, 
tl  do  you  know  that  you're  not  presenting  a  particu 
larly  imposing  figure  just  now  ?  n 

The  clergyman  started.  "  Henry ! "  he  cried. 
"  Henry !  Here  ?  But  it  is  like  you,  Henry,"  he  went 
on,  in  a  voice  of  mingled  fright  and  reproof.  "It  is 
as  you  always  were.  I  am  all  unstrung.  I  have  but 
newly  passed  through  a  terrible  peril,  and  you,  my 
brother,  meet  me— meet  me  after  three  years— with 
derision." 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  three  years.  I  didn't  mean  to 
deride  you,  though.  I'm  the  telegraph-operator  in 
the  station  up  here.  I'm  going  back  there  now,  and 
you'd  better  come  with  me,  I  think." 

The  clergyman  turned,  and  the  two  men  walked 
along  together.  "It  is  very  strange  that  I  should 
find  you  here,  and  under  such  terrible  circumstances. 
Terrible  circumstances!  At  one  moment  we  were 
rolling  smoothly  along  toward  our  various  destina 
tions.  In  the  next—"  He  threw  out  his  hands  and 
shuddered. 

In  spite  of  the  nervous  state  in  which  he  found 
himself,  the  clergyman  described  the  scene  through 
which  he  had  just  passed  as  he  would  have  described 
it  from  a  pulpit.  The  operator  noticed  this,  and 
smiled  with  a  weary  sort  of  amusement,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

"  The  crash  and  the  shrieks  and  the  reports  of  fire 
arms  j  the  jarring  stop  and  the  jangle  of  broken  glass. 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

I  was  terribly  unnerved,  yet  there  was  nothing  that  I 
could  do.  Those  who  might  have  required  rny  aid 
were  beyond  it.  Had  there  been  occasion  for  my 
services,  I  hope  that  I  could  sufficiently  have  con 
trolled  myself  to  perform  my  duty.  I  hope  I  should. 
I  think  I  should." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  would,"  agreed  the  clergyman's 
brother,  thoughtfully,  as  though  he  were  weighing 
the  matter.  "  Yes ;  from  what  I  know  of  you,  I'm 
pretty  sure  of  it.  That  you,  Billy  ? " 

"  Yes,  what's  left  of  me's  here,"  answered  a  badly 
shaken  brakeman,  who  was  stumbling  from  the  tele 
graph-station  back  to  the  wrecked  train.  "  I  reckon 
it's  me,  anyhow.  I  just  come  from  your  place." 

"  I  know.     The  wires  are  cut.     Can  you  ride  I " 

"  I  guess  so.     What  for  ? " 

"My  horse  is  in  the  pen,  there,  and  I'll  help  you 
saddle  up.  You'd  better  go  over  to  Oroville  and  warn 
the  sheriff— Barton.  You'll  find  him  in  the  Golden 
Eagle  saloon,  probably." 

As  he  spoke,  the  operator  stepped  into  the  station 
and  dragged  forth  a  saddle.  The  clergyman  could 
hear  him  as  he  caught  the  horse,  and  again  as  he 
called  his  last  instructions  to  the  departing  brake 
man  :  "  It's  only  seven  miles,  and  you  can't  miss  the 
trail.  You  just  tell  Barton  what  has  happened,  and 
he'll  know  what  to  do." 

The  brakeman  galloped  away  without  replying,  and 
the  muffled  hoof -beats  had  grown  faint  in  the  distance 
when  the  operator  returned. 

"  I'll  have  to  get  those  wires  in  shape  now,"  said  he, 

3°9 


Sand  and  Cactus 

lounging  in.  "You  can  hold  a  lantern  for  me,  can't 
you?" 

As  his  brother  was  rummaging  in  a  box  after  his 
pliers,  the  clergyman  took  up  the  lantern  and  looked 
at  it  helplessly.  He  could  see  no  way  in  which  it 
could  be  lighted.  The  operator  took  it  from  him, 
raised  the  globe,  kindled  the  wick,  and  handed  the 
lantern  back. 

"  It  is  three  years  since  last  I  saw  you,  Henry,"  said 
the  clergyman,  following  his  brother  outside  the  little 
building,  where  hung  the  loose  ends  of  the  cut  wires. 
"  Three  years.  What  have  you  done  and  where 
have  you  been  since—"  He  hesitated  in  order  to 
shift  the  lantern  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  and  the 
operator  misinterpreted  the  pause. 

" Since  I  left  home  and  disgraced  the  family?"  he 
replied.  "Well,  pretty  much  everything,  I  think, 
except  steal.  I  haven't  done  that— yet." 

"  We  heard  that  you  had— killed  a  man,"  the  clergy 
man  said,  pausing,  and  then  lowering  his  voice  as  he 
uttered  the  last  words.  "  Perhaps,  though,  it  was  not 
true,"  he  went  on  hopefully.  "  What  we  heard  was 
merely  a  rumor." 

"  True  ?  Oh,  yes,  it  probably  was.  I  don't  know 
what  you  heard,  of  course.  It  has  always  been  in 
self-defence,  or  defence  of  somebody  else,  though,  if 
that  means  anything  to  you.  Hold  the  light  a  little 
higher,  if  you  can." 

It  took  the  clergyman  a  moment  to  fully  realize 
the  meaning  of  his  brother's  speech ;  then  he  shrunk 
back  a  step.  For  some  time  neither  of  them  spoke, 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

and  the  stillness  was  broken  only  by  the  murmur  of 
voices  from  the  wrecked  train,  and  the  rattling  of  the 
wires  as  the  operator  mended  them. 

"How  is— when— how  did  you  leave— your  wife?" 
asked  the  operator  at  last,  trying  to  speak  indifferently, 
and  failing. 

The  clergyman  shifted  the  lantern  a  little,  and  swal 
lowed  two  or  three  times. 

"  I  lost  her  fourteen  months  ago,"  he  said  coldly. 

The  operator  industriously  twisted  the  end  of  one 
wire  around  another,  and  then  said  slowly :  "  Well,  it 
was  settled  in  the  best  way,  I  think.  She  was  wise  in 
preferring  you." 

The  lantern  trembled  in  the  clergyman's  hands. 
He  struggled  visibly  with  himself  for  a  moment,  and 
then  spoke :  "  She  did  not  prefer  me.  But  I  did  not 
know  it  then.  It  was  considered  more  judicious — by 
her  mother— and  she  yielded.  I  tried  to  do  my  duty. 
I  only  found  it  out  by  accident,  but  she  did  not 
prefer  me." 

He  wiped  his  forehead  as  he  finished  speaking,  and 
sighed  as  though  an  unpleasant  duty  had  been  accom 
plished.  The  operator  glanced  quickly  at  his  brother, 
and  then  went  on  with  his  work. 

"  She  was  right— they  were  both  of  them  right,  I 
suppose,"  he  said  deliberately.  He  made  a  final  ad 
justment  of  the  wires,  and  the  receiver  in  the  office 
began  to  click  furiously.  "That's  finished,"  the 
operator  went  on,  in  a  different  tone.  "  I'll  connect 
up  inside  now.  There'll  be  a  wrecking-crew  and 
another  train  bouncing  down  on  us  before  long  now, 

311 


Sand  and  Cactus 

and  then  you  can  go  on  to— where  did  you  say  you 
were  bound  for  ?  " 

"Oroville.  After— some  time  ago  my  health  gave 
out,  and  I  accepted  this  call  on  account  of  the 
climate.'7 

The  operator  looked  up  from  his  work  with  a  smile 
of  mild  amusement.  "  Is  that  so  ?  I  never  thought 
to  ask  the  new  clergyman's  name.  So  you're  coming 
to  top  off  the  latest  public  improvement." 

"I  trust  so." 

"  Oh,  you  will.  They've  had  electric  lights  for  ever 
so  long,— months,— and  some  brick  buildings,  and 
they've  pulled  most  of  the  rnesquit  stumps  out  of  the 
principal  streets.  After  that,  all  the  Orovillians 
wanted,  in  order  to  beat  Boot  Leg,  down  the  line 
here,  was  either  a  water-supply  system  or  a  church 
and  parson  of  their  own.  They  decided  on  the 
church  and  parson.  It's  cheaper,  and  they  knew 
that  Boot  Leg  would  never  have  thought  of  it.  So 
you're  here." 

"I  hardly  understand  you,  Henry.  Certainly  a 
church  is  in  the  line  of  a  public  improvement.  Where 
could  one  find  a  better  1  The  people  seem  to  rejoice 
sincerely  that  the  church  is  to  be  opened,  judging 
from  what  they  wrote  me,  and  from  what  one  of  my 
parishioners  said  as  we  talked  on  the  train." 

"  One  of  your  parishioners  ?    Who  ? " 

"His  name  is  Brown— Andrew  D.  Brown.  He 
met  me  at  El  Paso,  and  we  travelled  together  until 
we  reached  the  last  station,  when  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  on  business.  He  told  me  much  concerning  the 

312 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

town  and  the  people,  and  the  need  for  church-work. 
He  seemed  very  earnest." 

"  Andy  Brown,  eh  ? "  said  the  operator,  apparently 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  his  brother.  "  Seemed 
very  earnest.  So  he  was,  no  doubt." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Henry?"  asked  the  clergy 
man,  uneasily.  "  I  know  that  it  is  not  what  you  say. 
To  me  Mr.  Brown  did  appear  earnest.  Indeed,  I 
might  say— godly."  He  hesitated  on  the  last  word, 
as  though  afraid  of  derision. 

"  Godly,  to  be  sure,"  cried  Henry.  "  He's  a  land- 
shark— a  real-estate  speculator,  you  know,  or  rather 
you  don't  know  what  that  is  in  a  Western  town.  I'm 
afraid  his  godliness  isn't  just  your  kind,  James.  It's 
the  variety  that  spoils  if  it's  kept  too  long.  Still,  I 
don't  want  you  to  accept  my  verdict  as  final.  Look 
for  yourself  and  see." 

The  clergyman  did  not  answer.  He  set  his  lips  in 
a  straight  line,  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together, 
and  frowned  thoughtfully.  Evidently  he  meditated 
a  rebuke,  but  the  words  did  not  seem  to  come.  The 
operator  finished  connecting  his  instrument,  and  be 
gan  laboriously  to  tap  a  message  across  the  wire. 

"Where  did  you  learn  this— er— craft,  Henry?" 
asked  the  clergyman,  after  a  while. 

"Never  did  learn  it.  Picked  up  a  little  here  and 
there,  and  when  I  got  on  my  uppers  I  took  this  job. 
If  I'd  learned  it  I'd  have  got  a  better  one.  But  this 
is  my  last  night." 

"  Your  last  night  ?  "  queried  the  clergyman. 

The  operator  nodded.     "I  was  held  up  when  the 

3J3 


Sand  and  Cactus 

train  was,  and  had  my  wires  cut,  you  know.  The 
company '11  object  to  that— it's  a  way  they  have. 
They'd  discharge  me,  probably,  if  I  didn't  wire  my 
resignation  as  soon  as  I've  finished  this.  Don't  talk 
to  me— it  puts  me  out." 

Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  resting  against 
the  wall,  the  clergyman  listened  to  the  insistent  rattle 
of  the  telegraph  until,  thoroughly  tired,  he  fell  asleep. 
The  sun  was  rising  when  a  gentle  shake  aroused  him. 

"  Wake  up,  James,"  cried  his  brother's  voice.  "  The 
posse  is  coming.  We'll  get  you  over  to  town  now." 

James  stumbled  to  his  feet,  and,  winking  hard, 
looked  about  him.  Along  the  ridge  over  which  the 
robbers  had  disappeared  the  night  before  a  large 
party  of  men,  armed  and  well  mounted,  were  gallop 
ing.  With  them  the  brakeman  who  had  gone  to 
warn  the  sheriff  rode  uneasily.  As  they  approached 
the  track  the  operator's  horse,  ridden  by  the  brake 
man,  swerved,  to  the  great  discomfort  of  his  rider, 
and  galloped  toward  the  station.  The  brakeman 
pulled  up,  dismounted,  and  turned  loose  the  horse, 
which  thereupon  cantered  up  to  his  master.  The 
posse  swept  on  toward  the  train,  and  as  it  came,  the 
dispirited  passengers  raised  a  faint  cheer.  One  of 
the  men  left  the  others  and  came  galloping  down  the 
track  toward  the  station. 

"  That's  the  fellow  who  relieves  me,"  said  the 
operator  to  his  brother.  "HI  go  on  down  to  the 
train  now,  and  see  about  getting  you  over  to  the  town. 
You  come  along,  too.  I'll  meet  you  there."  He  swung 
into  the  saddle  and  started  away.  "  It's  all  right,"  he 

3H 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

shouted  to  tlie  coming  operator.  "I've  mended  the 
wires,  and  the  wrecking- train's  on  its  way.  I've  told 
all  the  details,  and  there's  nothing  coming  in  now  but 
fool  questions.  You  can  see  to  those.  So  long !  n 

It  was  broad  daylight,  and  as  the  clergyman  ap 
proached  the  train  the  results  of  the  accident,  and 
the  tie  partly  buried  between  the  rails  that  had  caused 
it,  stood  plainly  revealed.  The  engine  bore  a  curious 
resemblance  to  a  maimed  and  dead  animal  as  it  lay 
on  its  side  by  the  track.  One  of  the  posse  pointed  it 
out  to  a  companion  and  said,  "  Dead  horse,  eh?"  and 
the  clergyman  fully  understood  what  he  meant. 

"  Get  into  that  wagon  you  see  coming  over  the  hill 
there,"  called  the  operator,  riding  up.  "  It's  come  to 
take  what's  left  of  the  mail,  but  I've  seen  the  sheriff, 
and  he  says  it's  all  right  for  you  to  go,  too.  The  stage 
went  over  to  the  regular  station,  beyond  the  junction, 
where  you'd  have  gone  if  the  train  hadn't  smashed. 
Give  me  your  checks." 

The  clergyman  did  as  he  was  told.  To  his  timid  at 
tempt  at  explanation  the  driver  of  the  wagon  replied 
by  bashfully  making  room  for  him  on  the  seat.  The 
clergyman  climbed  awkwardly  in,  seating  himself  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  heavy  pistol  worn  by  his 
companion,  and  which  dragged  over  the  stuffed  sack 
that  served  as  a  cushion  with  every  motion  of  its 
wearer.  Looking  back  toward  the  train,  he  could  see 
that  the  posse  had  gathered  about  its  leader,  the 
sheriff,  who  was  evidently  giving  instructions.  An 
other  moment  and  it  had  divided,  half  going  in 
one  direction  and  half  in  another,  while  the  sheriff 

3'5 


Sand  and  Cactus 

and  the  clergyman's  brother  cantered  up  to  the 
wagon. 

"This  gentleman  sitting  by  you  is  one  of  your 
parishioners,  James/'  said  the  operator,  when  he  had 
come  within  speaking  distance,  "Mr.  Hop  Flanders 
by  name."  The  clergyman  turned  with  clerical  cor 
diality  to  the  driver,  who  spat  apologetically  over  the 
side  of  the  wagon,  and,  shifting  the  reins  of  his  four- 
horse  team,  extended  an  enormous  brown  hand.  In 
this  hand  the  clergyman  deposited  his.  Hop  gripped 
it  with  all  his  power,  turned  it  loose  after  giving  it 
one  shake,  and  returned  to  his  former  position  as  the 
operator  finished  the  introduction :  "  My  brother,  the 
Reverend  James  Braisted." 

"  This,  James,"  the  operator  went  on,  "  is  Mr.  Bar 
ton,  the  sheriff  of  our  county.  Barton,  this  is  our 
new  clergyman,  my  brother,  Mr.  Braisted." 

The  sheriff  was  forcing  his  unwilling  horse  closer 
to  the  wagon,  when  the  clergyman  turned  and  half 
rose  in  his  seat. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  fair  for  me  to  take 
your  hand,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  he.  "  On  the  whole,  I 
think  it  would  not.  I  am  sure  it  would  not.  It 
would  not  be  right  to  disguise  from  you  the  fact  that 
I  do  not  consider  you  as  one  with  whom  I  can  have 
anything  in  common.  As  an  officer  of  the  law  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  are  doubly  culpable— it  is  not 
too  strong  a  word—culpable.  Culpable  is  not  only 
permitting,  but  assisting,  tacitly  or  otherwise,  in 
practices  which  the  law  forbids,  and  which  disgrace 
our  Western  civilization— disgrace  it.  It  is  said  that 

316 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

you  own  one  of  the  places  where  liquor  is  sold  and 
where  gambling  is  permitted.  At  least,  you  are  a 
patron  of  such  places,  and  you  are  also  an  officer  of 
the  law.  To  speak  in  this  way  is  extremely  distaste 
ful  to  me— extremely.  But  I  can  see  no  alternative." 
The  clergyman  resumed  his  seat,  his  hand  trembling 
as  he  wiped  his  forehead. 

"If  you're  quite  through,  James,  I  think  we'll 
move  on,  Mr.  Barton  and  I.  Your  baggage  will  be 
brought  from  the  train  directly,  and  then  you  can 
follow  us,"  said  the  operator. 

Barton  had  turned  deeply  red  under  his  tan,  but 
his  voice  was  quiet  and  low  as  he  said  to  the  oper 
ator:  "I'm  goin'  kindah  roundabout  tuh  see  'f  I 
cyan't  fin'  some  track  ah  them  theah  thieves  down  by 
the  othah  road.  It'll  be  some  out  ah  youah  way." 

"  That  don't  matter,"  replied  the  other. 

The  sheriff  turned  his  horse,  and  the  two  men 
jogged  on  together. 

"  Look  here,  Barton,"  said  the  operator,  as  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  wagon.  "I  know 
how  that  speech  that  his  Reverence  got  off  must  have 
struck  you,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you  mustn't 
think  too  much  of  what  he  said." 

"  Think  much  of  it !  I  hadn'  nevah  done  nothin' 
tuh  him.  An'  theah  ain't  nothin'  I  can  do— yoh  cyan't 
shoot  a  pahson.  What'd  he  say  it  f  oh  ?  What'd  he 
mean  ? " 

"  That's  what  I'm  going  to  make  you  understand,  if 
you'll  only  listen  a  bit.  In  the  first  place,  you  know, 
he's  never  been  much  among  men— that  is,  men  as 

3*7 


Sand  and  Cactus 

you  and  I  know  them.  He  was  educated  at  a  semi 
nary,  as  they  call  it,— a  place  where  parsons  are  made 
—and  unless  one  knows  men  to  start  with,  there  isn't 
much  to  be  learned  about  them  there.  That's  the 
reason  he  doesn't  understand  things  as  they  are  here. 
Keeping  a  saloon  and  robbing  a  bank  would  be  pretty 
much  the  same  in  his  eyes." 

"  But  I  don'  run  no  saloon,"  objected  Barton. 

"I  know  you  don't— he  didn't  say  you  did;  but 
Andy  Brown  met  my  brother  on  the  train,  and  they 
had  a  long  talk.  Brown  probably  told  him  that  you 
had  an  interest  in  a  saloon,  among  other  things.  It 
has  been  said  that  you  helped  start  the  Golden  Eagle, 
you  know,  whether  it's  true  or  not.  Brown's  a 
plausible  sort  of  chap,  and  he's  got  it  in  for  you,  so 
he  must  have  tried  to  queer  you  with  the  dominie — 
and  any  one  can  fool  him.  Now  do  understand  this 
thing.  Give  the  parson  a  chance  to  look  around  him 
and  learn  something  about  us  all  before  you  make  up 
your  mind  what  you  think  of  him." 

"  But  he  oughtah  not  take  one  man's  wohd  'gains' 
anothah,  an'  then  not  give  the  othah  man  a  show," 
said  Barton. 

"Of  course  he  oughtn't,  but  that's  just  what  I'm 
trying  to  explain.  He'll  be  the  first  to  come  and  tell 
you  he's  wrong  as  soon  as  he  finds  it  out.  He's  good 
people— one  of  the  best  that  ever  lived.  Why,  when 
we  were  at  school  together— he's  two  years  older  than 
I— the  other  boys  used  to  call  him  St.  James.  His 
name  is  James,  you  know.  He  was  always  worrying 
himself  sick  for  fear  he'd  done  something  wrong.  It 

318 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

would  never  occur  to  him  that  Brown  was  a  sneaking 
liar.  Just  you  lay  low  for  a  bit,  and  see  if  he  don't 
bear  out  what  I  say." 

"  Well,  I  was  kindah  mad  fihst  off,  but  I  reckon  you 
ah  right,"  said  the  sheriff,  somewhat  mollified.  "  Theah 
wouldn'  no  decent  man  say  what  he  said,  less  he 
thought  he  was  right.  An'  then,  he  had  tuh  study  tuh 
be  a  pahson,  so's  he  ain't  had  no  time  tuh  fin'  out 
'bout  othah  things.  I'll  put  the  boys  on,  so's  they  won' 
get  riled  at  nothin'  he  might  say.  But  it's  hahd  luck 
f  oh  a  man  tuh  have  tuh  study  like  that,  ain't  it  ? " 

"  Yes ;  from  our  standpoint  I  suppose  it  is,"  agreed 
the  operator.  "  I'm  glad  you  see  it  as  I  do,  Barton. 
It  may  save  his  Reverence  a  lot  of  trouble  he'd  other 
wise  have  had  before  he  found  his  feet." 

For  some  time  the  sheriff  made  no  reply,  but 
seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply.  "I  s'pose  I'd  bettah 
shoot  Brown,  then,"  he  said  at  last.  "He's  the  one 
what  made  the  pahson  th'ow  me  down.  He  oughtah 
be  shot  foh  makin'  a  pahson  act  like  that.  S'pose  we 
push  a  little.  I  oughtah  be  gettin'  on." 

"  I  wouldn't  shoot  him  just  yet,"  said  the  operator, 
calling  upon  his  horse.  "It  might  be  a  good  plan, 
but  it  would  queer  you  with  my  brother,  and  I  want 
him  to  like  you.  Can't  you  wait  a  while  ? " 

Again  the  sheriff  deliberated  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  said :  "  Well,  maybe  that's  so.  I'll  go  'long  them 
lines  foh  now,  anyhow.  I  won'  shoot  him  yet." 

The  operator  smiled  and  nodded,  and  the  two  men 
rode  along  in  silence,  their  eyes  bent  on  the  ground  in 
the  vain  hope  of  finding  some  traces  of  the  thieves. 

3'9 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"'Less  them  thieves  got  rounded  up  by  the  boys, 
they  mustah  struck  right  intah  the  town,  like  I 
reckoned  they  would  all  along.  I'll  split  the  men  up 
intah  little  gangs  an'  have  'em  covah  the  country, 
while  I  an'  a  couple  moah  go  th'ough  the  burgh 
itself.  'Fraid  it'll  be  bettah  wuhk  foh  a  detective 
than  foh  a  sheriff  an'  posse,  though.  The  boys 
oughtah  be  back  mos'  as  soon  as  us.  Le's  push  foh 
home." 

The  "  boys  "  were  back  before  the  sheriff  was.  The 
dusty  little  saloon-lined  plaza  at  the  intersection  of 
Oroville's  two  principal  thoroughfares  was  filled  with 
them  as  he  rode  up  the  street.  The  posse  had  in 
creased  in  size,  and  was  still  growing,  for  most  of 
Oroville's  male  inhabitants  were  volunteering  as  fast 
as  they  could  saddle  their  horses. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  wagon  drove  slowly  through 
the  crowd  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  post-office. 
Hop  Flanders  tossed  the  mail-pouches  to  the  waiting 
postmaster,  while  the  clergyman  stood  up  in  his  seat 
and  gazed  at  the  scene  about  him.  By  this  time  the 
whole  town,  apparently,  was  in  the  plaza,  and  most 
of  it  was  mounted  and  ready  for  immediate  departure. 
Worming  his  way  in  and  out  among  the  crowd,  the 
sheriff  galloped  from  place  to  place,  dividing  the  vol 
unteers  into  parties,  and  appointing  a  leader  for  each. 
The  men  fell  into  the  places  assigned  them  as  though 
they  were  members  of  a  team  that  had  often  played 
together,  and  that  gloried  in  its  play.  Every  one 
was  laughing;  rough  jokes  were  shouted  from  one 
party  to  another.  Infected  by  the  spirits  of  the  men, 

320 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

James  Braisted  looked  upon  this  gathering  of  his 
people  with  an  interest  rarely  shown  by  him  in  matters 
not  directly  relating  to  his  spiritual  work,  and  with 
an  absence  of  consciousness  that,  in  his  self -repressed, 
introspective  life,  was  rarer  still. 

The  men  were  soon  arranged,  and  for  a  moment 
the  shouts  were  stilled,  only  to  break  out  in  a  laugh 
ing  cheer  as  one  of  the  parties,  headed  by  the  oper 
ator,  swept  by  at  a  gallop,  its  leader  saluting  the 
wagon  in  which  the  clergyman  was  enthroned  as  he 
passed  it.  One  after  another,  in  rapid  succession,  the 
other  parties  followed  the  first,  and  the  plaza,  though 
still  thronged  at  the  edges  with  chattering  crowds, 
seemed  silent  and  empty. 

A  short,  thick  man  with  a  puffy  face  emerged  from 
a  doorway,  and  after  eying  the  clergyman  for  a  mo 
ment,  climbed  into  the  rear  of  the  wagon,  stepped 
forward,  and  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "  I  reckon— 
I  presume,  that  is— that  this  is  the  Reverend  Braisted, 
ain't  it?"  said  he.  "Yes?  That's  good.  Phelps  is 
my  name.  I'm  a  pardner  of  Andrew  D.  Brown's, 
what  you  maybe  met  on  the  train  coniin'  up.  I  s'pose 
you'd  like  ter  go  right  along  t'  yer  house?  The 
church  is  jus'  nex'  door." 

Eager  to  begin  his  work,  and  to  learn  about  it  and 
everything  concerning  it,  the  clergyman  assented 
readily,  and  the  wagon  moved  off.  Phelps  did  not 
fail  to  point  out,  as  they  drove  along,  the  evidences 
of  municipal  enterprise :  the  frame  buildings  that  had 
nearly  superseded  the  canvas-covered  shacks  which 
marked  the  earliest  stage  of  the  town's  development, 

321 


Sand  and  Cactus 

and  a  few  structures  of  new,  garish  brick,  of  a  period 
still  later  than  the  frame.  Then  the  wagon  pulled  up 
at  the  church.  The  clergyman  hastened  to  inspect  it 
and  the  snug  parsonage  close  by,  straightway  forget 
ting  everything  else  in  his  enthusiasm  j  for  the  church 
was  handsome,  and  its  interior  fittings  had  been 
selected  with  a  taste  and  an  accurate  knowledge  of 
what  was  required  that  in  such  a  town  seemed  remark 
able.  Phelps  followed  the  parson  from  place  to  place, 
beaming  at  each  expression  of  approval  with  an  air 
of  modest  deprecation  that  seemed  to  imply  that  the 
new  church  of  Oroville  owed  everything  that  was 
good  to  the  instrumentality  of  Phelps. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  for  the  next  few  days, 
the  clergyman  was  busy  with  work  he  enjoyed  as  he 
enjoyed  nothing  else.  He  had  little  time  to  think  of 
his  brother,  though  now  and  then  he  would  inquire 
of  some  of  his  many  visitors  as  to  Henry's  probable 
whereabouts,  the  time  of  his  return,  and  the  amount 
of  danger  that  his  mission  would  be  likely  to  bring 
upon  him.  The  answers  to  such  questions  were  in 
variably  reassuring,  so  that  there  was  hardly  room 
for  apprehension. 

It  was  toward  evening  on  the  fourth  day  after  the 
robbery,  and  James  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  his 
parsonage,  when  his  brother  came  lounging  up  the 
road.  The  excitement  of  the  preceding  days  had 
passed,  and  the  reaction  had  followed  it,  leaving  the 
clergyman  nervous  and  tired.  With  an  expression  of 
strong  disapproval  he  noted  the  careless,  swinging 
gait  of  the  younger  man.  This  walk  always  had 

322 


,  A  Brother  to  St.  James 

irritated  him ;  it  showed  so  utter  a  lack  of  seriousness. 
The  operator  saw  this  look  on  his  brother's  face,  and 
smiled  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  James,  how  are  things  coming  on?"  he 
asked.  "You  seem  to  be  rather  comfortable  here. 
How  do  you  like  the  church  ? " 

"  Exceedingly.  It  could  not  be  better.  The  church 
and  all  its  appointments  are  excellent.  I  was  sur 
prised  that  the  people  here  knew  so  well  what  was 
required,  or  rather  that  one  of  them  did,  for  they  tell 
me  that  it  was  but  one  who  chose  the  fittings." 

"  It  was  I,"  answered  Henry.  "  But  it  shouldn't  be 
so  remarkable,  I  think,  when  one  considers  the  way  I 
was  brought  up." 

"  You ! "  exclaimed  his  brother,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  forehead.  "Surely  you  are  joking,  Henry. 
They  told  me  it  was  a  man  named  Jones." 

"  Fm  Jones,"  replied  Henry.  "  The  name  is  simple 
and  unpretentious,  and  I  adopted  it.  You  see,  I 
didn't  want  to  disgrace  the  family  more  than  was 
necessary." 

"  I  don't  understand  you ;  but  you  can  hardly  mean 
what  you  say,"  the  minister  said  anxiously.  "  Those 
who  know  that  we  are  brothers  have  expressed  no 
surprise  that  our  names  are  not  alike." 

"  No ;  they  wouldn't.  They  see  that  Fve  changed 
my  name,  or  think  that  you've  changed  yours,  that's 
all.  They  don't  mind  that  here.  Lots  of  them  do  it. 
It's  rather  the  correct  thing  to  do." 

The  clergyman  looked  shocked.  "I  wish  you 
would  not  treat  these  things  so  lightly,  Henry,"  said 

323 


Sand  and  Cactus 

he.  "  To  me  this  is  serious.  Why  should  these  peo 
ple  go  under  assumed  names?" 

"Oh,  because  they're  wanted  somewhere  or  other 
by  the  police,  or  by  the  families  they've  deserted,  or 
a  hundred  reasons  besides.  Nobody  knows,  and  it 
isn't  considered  good  form  to  inquire." 

"Have  you— "here  James  paused  apprehensively. 
"  Have  you  any  such  reason,  Henry  ? "  he  finished. 

"  I've  broken  no  law ;  and  you  know  that  the  other 
reason  I  gave  hardly  applies  to  me,"  answered  Henry, 
somewhat  bitterly. 

The  clergyman  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
veranda,  then  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  his  brother. 
"In  what  part  of  the  town  do  you  lodge,  Henry?" 
he  asked.  "  I  think  you  had  better  come  here  now. 
There's  plenty  of  room." 

"  Now  that's  awfully  good  of  you,  James,"  said  the 
younger  man,  gratefully.  "  But  I  won't  take  advan 
tage  of  your  kindness,  I  think.  It's  better  not.  I'm 
afraid  that  I  wouldn't  make  a  very  ornamental  ap 
pendage  to  a  church." 

"I  am  sorry  you  feel  so,  Henry,"  said  the  clergy 
man,  stiffening.  "  It  is  not  a  good  sign.  I  am  sorry 
that  you  no  longer  feel  at  home  in  an  atmosphere 
of-" 

"  Piety  ?  "  suggested  Henry. 

"  Piety,  if  you  choose.  Yes  j  piety.  As  I  said  before, 
it  is  not  a  good  sign.  Where  is  it  that  you  lodge  ?  " 

The  manner  of  the  elder  brother  was  distinctly  pas 
toral.  Henry  glanced  up  resentfully,  then  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

324 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

"  Where  ?  Over  a  saloon ;  over  the  Golden  Eagle— 
the  one  you  insulted  the  sheriff  about,  the  other  day/' 
said  he.  "I'm  very  comfortable  there,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause. 

Drawing  from  his  pocket  some  tobacco  and  a  bun 
dle  of  papers,  Henry  began  to  roll  a  cigarette.  His 
brother  watched  him  absently. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  the  way  I  just  spoke.  I 
provoked  you.  I  am  sorry,"  said  James,  at  last. 
"You  mentioned  what  I  said  to  the  sheriff.  In 
that  case  I  did  only  what  I  thought  to  be  my  duty. 
I  could  not  have  met  him  as  though  we  were  to  be 
friends.  It  would  not  have  been  honest.  Can't  you 
see  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  quite  understand.  But  you're  mak 
ing  an  awful  mistake,  James.  You've  got  to  know 
these  people  if  you're  going  to  deal  with  them.  Things 
are  looked  at  so  differently  here  from  what  they  are 
at  home  that  one  can't  apply  the  same  standards.  The 
sheriff  is  one  of  our  best  citizens.  There's  hardly  a 
day  that  he  don't  risk  his  life  to  enforce  those  laws 
you  accuse  him  of  breaking.  He's  worth  a  thousand 
of  that  gang  you  seem  to  have  got  in  with— Brown 
and  his  lot.  They're  about  the  worst  we  breed,  and 
that's  saying  a  good  deal." 

James  straightened  up  indignantly.  "  I  should  be 
sorry  to  doubt  your  motive  for  speaking  of  these  men 
as  you  do,  Henry,"  said  he.  "Yet  I  cannot  see  by 
what  right  you  vilify  them  simply  because  you  dislike 
them.  They  have  all  of  them  talked  with  me  long 
and  earnestly  about  the  church- work  j  and  though 

325 


Sand  and  Cactus 

they  have  warned  me  against  this  man  you  are  de 
fending,  they  did  so,  I  am  sure,  from  none  but  the 
best  motives.  It  is  to  Mr.  Brown,  Mr.  Phelps,  and 
others  of  their  kind  that  I  have  to  look  for  help  with 
the  church.  Why,  they  were  the  ones  who  built  it, 
chiefly,  and  who  brought  me  here." 

"  They  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  Look  here,  James. 
When  they  first  decided  to  build  a  church  here  in 
Oroville,  there  was  some  dispute  as  to  what  sort  of  a 
church  it  should  be.  They  could  only  build  one  and 
do  it  properly,  and  as  the  men  who  contributed 
toward  it  were  of  nearly  all  denominations,  there 
was  some  trouble  in  settling  this  detail.  Finally, 
rather  than  have  no  church  at  all,  they  decided  to 
have  one  representative  of  each  sect  come  into  a 
game  of  hundred-dollar  freeze-out,  the  winner  to 
seat  his  creed,  and  the  rest  to  stand  by  the  decision. 
Your  man  won.  It  was  a  four  full  on  sixes  held 
against  an  ace-high  flush  that  had  more  to  do  with 
bringing  you  here  than  anything  else." 

"  And  you  permitted  this  ? " 

"Yes,  I  permitted  it— not  that  my  permission  was 
asked.  But  there  was  no  irreverence  in  what  they 
did,  looked  at  from  their  standpoint.  These  men — 
the  greater  part  of  them — have  a  childlike  faith  in 
religion.  But  they  take  their  religion  as  they  do 
their  whiskey— that  is,  though  each  man  may  prefer 
some  one  brand,  yet  all  kinds  are  good.  You'd  better 
think  about  this,  James,— really  you  had,— for  it's 
true,  even  though  it  does  come  from  a  hardened  sinner 
like  me." 

326 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

The  clergyman  looked  troubled.  "  My  principles  I 
cannot  change,  Henry ;  they  are  fixed,"  he  said  j  •<  and 
it  is  an  awful  thing  to  gamble  in  order  to  decide  so 
vital  a  matter— awful !  Still,  I  will  think  of  what 
you  have  said.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  narrow.  But 
concerning  these  men  whom  you  so  dislike  you  must 
be  wrong.  They  have  already  called  and  offered  every 
encouragement  to  the  church-work.  They  have  con 
tributed  handsomely— and  voluntarily— to  help  in 
starting  us.  Just  see."  He  drew  from  his  pocket 
several  gold  coins  and  a  slip  of  white  paper,  exhibit 
ing  them  proudly. 

"Rather  a  small  pile,  isn't  it?"  asked  Henry, 
scratching  a  match  on  the  door-step  and  carefully 
lighting  his  cigarette. 

"The  gold?  Perhaps.  There  was  more  gold,— 
much  more, — but  I  used  it  in  changing  this  check.  Mr. 
Plielps  gave  fifty  dollars  out  of  this  check,  and  I  had 
received  contributions  enough  from  others  to  change 
it  and  leave  what  you  see." 

The  clergyman  was  about  to  replace  the  money 
when  his  brother  stopped  him. 

"  Hold  on,  James,  for  a  minute.  Let  me  see  that 
check,  won't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"You'll  hardly  venture  to  doubt  its  genuineness, 
even  though  Mr.  Plielps  did  give  it,"  said  the  clergy 
man,  smiling,  as  he  handed  the  check  to  his  brother. 

Henry  was  absorbed  in  studying  the  slip  of  paper, 
and  made  no  reply.  There  was  a  sound  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  in  the  road.  They  slowed  in  front  of  the  par 
sonage,  then  sprang  into  a  gallop  and  passed  on. 


Sand  and  Cactus 

"That  was  Mr.  Phelps  who  just  went  by,"  said 
James,  reproachfully.  "You  must  have  let  him  see 
that  you  dislike  him,  Henry.  He  was  about  to  stop, 
but  when  he  saw  that  you  were  here  he  went  on 
toward  the  town." 

"Very  likely.  James,  unless  I'm  much  mistaken, 
this  contribution  of  Phelps's  will  hang  him." 

"Hang  him!  What  do  you  mean,  Henry?  Are 
you  joking?7'  cried  the  clergyman,  in  dismay.  But 
he  knew  that  there  was  no  joke  intended.  On  Henry's 
face  there  was  a  look  of  earnestness  that  was  seldom 
seen  there.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Henry  ? "  he  asked 
again,  as  his  brother  did  not  at  once  answer. 

"I'll  have  to  take  this  to  the  sheriff,  and  get  a 
warrant  out  at  once,  James,"  said  the  operator. 
"There's  no  time  to  lose.  This  check  is  one  that 
was  stolen  from  the  mail-car  on  the  night  of  the  rob 
bery." 

The  clergyman  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair. 
"Surely,  Henry,  you  must  be  mistaken,"  said  he. 
"But  what  did  you  mean— what  did  you  mean 
when  you  spoke  of  hanging  ?  There  was  no  murder  ?  " 

"  Train-robbery's  a  capital  offence  in  this  Territory. 
But  Phelps  won't  come  to  that.  They'll  hang  him 
quite  informally,  probably,  as  soon  as  he's  caught." 

"  But  he  cannot  be  guilty.  If  he  were  he  would 
not  give  the  proof  into  my  hands." 

"When  did  he  give  you  this?" 

"  To-day—just  before  you  came." 

"  Then  it's  all  simple  enough.  These  men  haven't 
much  money  just  now,  and  it's  vitally  necessary  for 

328 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

them  to  get  out  of  town  and  away  as  soon  as  possible. 
What  they  took  from  the  train  was  all  in  green 
backs,  and  if  they  attempted  to  pass  those  around 
here,  where  every  one  uses  gold,  it  would  have  aroused 
any  amount  of  suspicion.  They  knew  it  would  take 
a  day  or  two  before  this  could  reach  the  bank,  and  so 
they  passed  the  check  on  you,  that's  all.  Of  course  it 
was  a  chance,  but  they  had  to  take  chances.  I'll  go 
and  see  the  sheriff,  and  then  come  back  here."  Henry 
was  about  to  put  the  check  in  his  pocket,  when  his 
brother  took  it  from  his  hand. 

"You  see,  it's  made  out  to  some  man  in  Yuma," 
explained  Henry,  patiently,  "and  endorsed  to  bearer. 
The  endorsement  is  forged,  of  course.  After  they 
hang  Phelps,  they  can  send  him  up  for  that,  if  they 
like.  Give  me  the  check ;  I  must  go." 

For  a  moment  the  clergyman  stood  irresolute ;  then 
he  put  the  check  in  his  pocket.  "  I  must  not  let  you 
have  this  now,  Henry,"  he  said  decidedly.  "  The  man 
who  gave  me  this  may  be  innocent— I  think  he  is  in 
nocent.  I  cannot  allow  him  to  rest  under  this  terrible 
charge,  and  still  more  terrible  danger,  when  his  only 
fault  may  be  that  he  tried  to  help  the  best  of  all  good 
works.  I  cannot  permit  that.  I  must  see  him.  He 
must  have  a  chance  of  clearing  himself." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  James.  It's  for  the  law  to  decide 
whether  he's  innocent  or  not.  Let  me  have  the  check." 

"I  cannot.  It  is  not  the  law  that  would  decide, 
but  lawless  men.  You  yourself  have  said  so.  He 
must  have  an  opportunity  of  clearing  himself." 

"  James,  look  here.     Phelps  saw  me  looking  at  that 


Sand  and  Cactus 

check,  and  he  thoroughly  realizes  what  that  means, 
you  may  be  sure.  He  and  his  gang  will  take  any 
chances  to  get  it  back.  They'd  think  nothing  of  put 
ting  you  out  of  the  way— in  fact,  they're  very  likely 
to  try.  Your  holding  this  check  means  a  very  great 
danger  to  you.  Very  likely  it  means  death  to  you. 
Do  you  understand  ? " 

The  clergyman  turned  pale.  "I  cannot  help  it, 
Henry,"  said  he.  "  I  hope  you  are  wrong,  but  whether 
you  are  or  not,  I  can  see  no  other  way  for  me.  My 
duty  is  clear,  and  the  rest  is  out  of  my  hands."  He 
turned  and  went  into  the  house.  Though  he  was 
white  and  trembling,  his  brother  could  see,  through 
the  open  window,  that  he  locked  the  money  and 
check  in  his  desk.  Then  he  came  out  on  the  veranda 
again. 

Henry  rose  to  go.  "  Have  it  your  own  way  if  you 
think  you  ought  to,  James,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you'd 
better  see  your  pious  friends  as  soon  as  possible, 
though.  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  accept  your  in 
vitation  for  a  while.  I'll  stop  here  to-night.  You 
needn't  bother  to  get  a  bed  ready.  I'll  be  back 
directly." 

He  walked  quickly,  yet  with  no  appearance  of  haste, 
down  the  road  to  the  post  where  he  had  left  his  horse  ; 
and  when  he  was  mounted  he  rode  as  fast  as  the  horse 
could  carry  him  toward  the  town.  The  sheriff  was 
lounging,  as  usual,  in  front  of  the  Golden  Eagle  when 
the  operator  galloped  up  to  the  door. 

"  Hello,  Barton  !  "  he  drawled.  "  Come  here  a 
minute,  will  you  ? " 

33° 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

The  sheriff  rose  and  reluctantly  came  forward,  fan 
ning  himself  with  his  hat.  "  What's  wrong  now, 
Hank?  "he  asked. 

"  Why,  I  jtist  came  around  to  ask  you  to  stand  by 
to-night.  You  see,  Pve  got  what  you  might  call  a 
clew  to  these  thieves  we've  been  chasing,  and  I  think 
they  know  it,  so  there  may  be  a  row.  I  can't  tell  you 
what  it  is  just  yet,"  Henry  hastened  to  say,  seeing 
that  the  sheriff  was  about  to  speak.  "I'm  rather 
bound  not  to  do  that,  but  you'll  know  all  about  it  in. 
the  morning,  probably.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to 
come  if  you  hear  a  fight  going  on ;  they  may  be  too 
many  for  me.  If  I'm  not  in  a  condition  to  tell  you 
anything  when  you  get  there,  just  take  the  man  I'm 
fighting  with.  You  can't  go  wrong." 

"Who  ah  these  heah  men?  I'll  see  they  don' 
bothah  yoh." 

"Well,  I  can  hardly  tell  you  that.  I'm  bound  in 
honor  not  to.  See  ? " 

Barton  nodded.  "  Cyan't  yoh  take  me  'long,  Hank  ?  " 
he  asked.  "Seems  tuh  me  yoh'll  likely  stack  up 
'gains'  a  kind  ah  stiff  lay-out.  Maybe  they'll  do  yoh. 
Wish  yoh  could  take  me  'long." 

"No,  I  can't  do  that,  either.  Most  likely,  if  I 
have  any  trouble  with  these  men,  I  can  stand 
them  off  until  you  come,  if  you  hurry.  You'll  be 
ready?" 

"  I  suah  will,"  responded  Barton,  in  a  tone  of  real 
concern.  As  the  operator  rode  away,  the  sheriff  stood 
looking  after  him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight,  then 
shifted  his  gaze  to  a  small  nondescript  dog  that  sat 

331 


Sand  and  Cactus 

near  him  hunting  for  fleas.  He  stared  so  long  that 
the  dog  grew  uncomfortable,  and  rising,  stared  back 
again. 

"  Theah's  suah  go'n'  tah  be  trouble,  an'  more'n  likely 
big  trouble,"  said  the  sheriff,  emphatically.  "  Reckon 
I  bettah  go  'n'  roun'  up  some  ah  the  boys,  an'  keep 
'em  handy.  Sunthin's  dead  wrong.  Hank  he  don' 
ask  help  foil  nothin'— you  heah  me?" 

The  dog  carefully  tucked  his  tail  between  his  legs 
and  trotted  off,  and  the  sheriff  departed  in  search  of 
his  men. 

There  was  little  display  of  force.  One  after  another, 
men  renowned  for  the  accuracy  of  their  pistol  practice 
strolled  into  the  Golden  Eagle,  and  only  a  few  habit 
ues  of  the  place  noticed  that  they  remained  there 
instead  of  wandering  from  one  saloon  to  another, 
according  to  their  custom. 

Evening  fell,  and  the  lights  came  out.  The  streets 
of  Oroville  were  crowded,  for  it  was  Saturday,  the 
eve  of  the  weekly  fiesta.  As  the  night  wore  on,  the 
crowds  grew  hilarious.  There  were  shouts,  snatches 
of  song,  and  occasional  shots  as  some  man  found  his 
natural  capacity  for  making  a  noise  insufficient  for 
his  needs.  Now  and  then  the  scraping  of  fiddles  could 
be  heard,  the  twang  of  guitars,  and  the  jangle  of  an 
untuned  piano.  The  sheriff  walked  down  the  road  a 
little  and  listened ;  walked  back  to  see  that  his  men 
were  where  he  could  easily  call  them  out  to  the  road. 
Many  times  he  repeated  this  manoeuvre,  and  at  last 
he  heard  the  popping  of  pistol-shots.  There  was  no 
question  but  what  they  were  fired  in  earnest.  There 

332 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

were  many  of  them,  and  they  came  irregularly,  like 
the  reports  of  a  bunch  of  fire-crackers.  Shots  fired 
in  sport  do  not  sound  so.  Then  there  was  a  faint 
yell  in  the  distance,  and  more  shots. 

With  a  shrill  whistle,  the  sheriff  ran  to  the  rail 
where  the  horses  were  tied,  and  his  men,  having  a 
shorter  distance  to  go,  were  there  as  soon  as  he.  The 
crowd  on  the  sidewalk  stopped  to  see ;  those  who  had 
horses  ran  to  get  them,  and  others  followed  on  foot 
as  the  sheriff  and  his  men  started  at  full  speed  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sounds  came. 

As  they  advanced  there  were  fewer  shots,  but  the 
noises  came  more  distinctly  to  their  ears.  They 
rounded  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  then  could  see  that 
in  front  of  the  parsonage  several  horses  were  stand 
ing,  held  by  a  man  wrho  was  mounted  on  one  of  them. 
There  were  other  men  near  the  veranda,  who  ran  to 
the  horses  as  soon  as  the  posse  appeared,  and,  mount 
ing  quickty,  dashed  away  in  the  darkness.  The  posse 
leaned  forward  and  spurred.  Pistol-shots  began  to 
flash,  and  the  bullets  sang  mournfully. 

"  Don't  empty  youah  guns  now,"  called  the  sheriff. 
"  Wait  till  you  close  on  'em." 

They  had  reached  the  parsonage  as  he  spoke,  and 
Barton  turned  in  at  the  gate  and  leaped  from  his 
horse,  while  the  rest  swept  on.  The  shots  and  yells 
had  ceased.  The  only  sounds  were  the  rattle  of  gal 
loping  hoofs  as  the  mounted  citizens  trailed  after  the 
posse,  and  the  footfalls  of  those  who  were  running. 

Three  dark  forms  lay  in  the  door-yard.  On  the 
veranda  knelt  the  clergyman,  supporting  his  brother's 

333 


Sand  and  Cactus 

head.  Running  into  the  house,  the  sheriff  caught  up 
a  lamp  and  returned,  holding  it  so  that  the  light  fell 
on  the  operator.  He  was  very  pale,  and  apparently 
unconscious,  but  there  was  no  blood  visible. 

"  Did  yoh  get  any  whiskey  down  'iin  ? "  asked  the 
sheriff. 

"  I  have  none,"  replied  the  parson. 

Barton  pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  uncorked  it, 
and  little  by  little  forced  some  of  its  contents  down 
the  throat  of  the  wounded  man,  who  finally  made  a 
convulsive  effort  to  swallow. 

The  men  who  came  on  foot  began  to  throng  the 
door-yard.  "  The  doctor's  comin',"  called  one  of  them. 
"  Three  men's  gone  ter  fetch  him." 

"Is  he  hurt  badly?"  asked  the  clergyman.  "Is  it 
—do  you  think— will  he  recover?" 

Barton  looked  up  impatiently.  "  Cohse  he's  huht 
bad,"  said  he.  "  Don'  s'pose  he's  doin*  this  f oh  fun. 
Cyan't  tell  how  bad  till  we  look.  Doctah'll  be  heah 
in  a  minute." 

The  clergyman  peered  into  his  brother's  face.  He 
was  by  far  the  paler  of  the  two.  At  that  moment 
Henry  opened  his  eyes.  "  Hello,  James ! "  he  said 
faintly.  "  Are  you  all  right  ? " 

The  clergyman  caught  his  brother's  hand.  "Are 
you  in  pain,  Henry  f  Are  you  suffering  ? "  he  cried. 

"No,  not  yet.  That'll  come  later,  unless  I  have 
good  luck." 

"  But  you  will  have  good  luck,  as  you  call  it,  Henry. 
You'll  not  be  taken  away  yet— I  feel  sure  of  it,"  said 
James,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully,  and  failiDg. 

334 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  I'm  gone,  fast  enough.  Know 
where  the  ball  went— struck  the  hip  and  glanced  up." 

Henry's  voice  was  growing  weaker.  His  brother 
glanced  at  Barton,  with  eager  inquiry  in  his  look. 
The  sheriff  nodded  and  turned  away  his  head. 

"  I  wouldn't  bother  myself  about  it  more— than  I 
could  help,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  James,"  the  oper 
ator  struggled  to  say.  "It's  just  as  well.  I  don't 
mind.  I'm  awfully— tired— of  it  all.  Been— tired  for 
three— years."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  breathing 
heavily,  and  then  went  on  :  "  Remember— me  to  them 
at— home,  if  you  think  they'd  care— to  hear.  So  long, 
Barton.  See  that  my — brother  don't  run — up  against 
anything— more."  Henry  closed  his  eyes,  and  his 
head  fell  forward. 

"Henry,  Henry,  isn't  there  something  I  can  do? 
Think !  Surely  if  you  are  about  to  die  you  can  re 
pent.  May  I  not—" 

In  his  earnestness  the  clergyman  gave  his  brother's 
arm  a  little  shake.  .  The  sheriff  made  a  warning  mo 
tion,  and  the  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes. 

"I— don't  think  it's— worth  while— now,"  said  he. 
"  Don't  shake.  It— hurts.  Rather— think  I'm  going 
now.  Feels— that  way.  Good-by,  James."  Once 
more  Henry's  head  fell  forward,  and  this  time  he  was 
unconscious. 

"  Le's  get  him  intah  the  house,"  said  the  sheriff. 
"  We  c'n  do  it  'thout  huhtin'  him  now." 

Half  a  dozen  men  sprang  forward  to  help. 

"  Here  comes  the  doctor,"  somebody  said. 

In  another  moment  the  operator  was  laid  on  a 

335 


Sand  and  Cactus 

lounge  in  the  clergyman's  study  and  the  doctor  was 
bending  over  him.  James  and  the  sheriff  waited  im 
patiently  for  his  verdict,  one  pacing  nervously  about 
the  room,  the  other  standing  as  though  carved  in 
stone. 

At  last  the  clergyman  could  stand  the  suspense  no 
longer.  "  Tell  me,  doctor,  for  heaven's  sake ! "  he 
cried.  "  Will  he  live  ?  " 

The  doctor  did  not  turn  his  head.  "  I'm  doing  all 
I  can  for  him,"  said  he.  "  He  may  regain  conscious 
ness,  but  don't  count  on  it." 

For  a  moment  the  clergyman  stared  as  though  he 
had  not  understood ;  then  pulling  himself  together,  he 
left  the  room,  and  Barton  followed  him  on  to  the 
veranda.  Evidently  the  officer  wished  to  say  some 
thing,  but  he  hesitated,  and  James  looked  at  him  in 
a  helpless  sort  of  way,  his  thoughts  evidently  else 
where. 

11 1  know  what  hahd  luck  it  is ;  I  know  how  it  hits 
yoh,"  timidly  said  the  officer  at  last.  "  He  was  all  a 
man,  an'  he's  dyin'  like  he  lived.  Look  at  them"— 
pointing  as  he  spoke  to  the  motionless  bodies  that  lay 
in  the  door-yard.  The  parson  turned  away  his  face. 
Barton  nervously  opened  and  shut  his  hands,  and 
then  went  on :  "I  don'  hahdly  know  how  tuh  say  it, 
but  the  boys— every  one— knows  what  he  was.  Theah 
ain't  no  man  nowheahs  that  was  whitah  than  him. 
No  man  couldn't  'a'  walked  straightah,  nor  talked 
straightah,  nor  shot  straightah  than  him,  an'  suah 
no  man  couldn't  go  out  bettah.  He  always  seemed 
kindah  up  against  it  heah,  like  sunthin'  had  gone 

336 


A  Brother  to  St.  James 

wrong;  an'  yoh  know  bettah'n  I  c'n  tell  yoh  that 
he'll  suah  strike  a  soft  thing  wheah  he's  go'n'  tali  fetch 
up.  I  ain't  tryin'  tuh  tell  yoh  youah  business,"  he 
hastened  to  explain.  "I  jus'  wanted  yoh  tuh  know 
how  we-all  felt,  that's  all.  An'  yoh  needn'  feah  foh 
them  what  shot  him.  It  ain't  likely  that  theah  livin' 
now." 

With  a  visible  effort  the  clergyman  collected  him 
self.  "I  spoke  to  you  harshly,  unjustly,  the  other 
day,"  said  he.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  But  I  didn't  under 
stand." 

"Don'  mention  that  no  moah,"  cried  Barton.  "I 
know  yoh  did  what  yoh  thought  w^as  straight.  He 
tol'  me.  It's  all  right.  Yoh  hadn'  caught  on,  that's 
all." 

"No.  I'm  learning  now.  But  it's  hard  to  learn. 
Very  hard.  Very,  very  hard." 

"It  suah  is,"  assented  Barton,  sympathetically. 
"It's  expe'ience  what  tells,  an'  expe'ience  comes 
awful  high  sometimes."  He  turned  to  leave,  then 
glanced  once  more  through  the  window  at  the  form 
of  the  operator  as  it  lay  on  the  lounge,  and  added : 
"  I  liked  him  mighty  well." 


337 


YB  "73078 


